


The Wednesday Evening Salons

by yes_2day



Series: Yes_2day's series [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, john doesn't die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 153,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yes_2day/pseuds/yes_2day
Summary: This fic plays with the period in time when John and Paul were estranged, and John was living in the Dakota doing nothing. It starts in 1977, and an alternative ending unfolds because inthisuniverse John misses the bullet. What would have happened? This is one (completely fictional) version of what might have happened…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **ORIGINALLY POSTED ON LJ IN 2013**
> 
>  
> 
> N.B.: You will have to be patient; the J/P stuff only dances around the edges of this story for a few chapters.
> 
> This isn't a quickie. If you're interested, you will have to settle in for the long haul, like when you sit down with a book. Please let me know your thoughts, good or bad. I'm a tough cookie and can take constructive criticism. (Please keep it constructive.) Otherwise, how do you know how to improve? 
> 
> The fic features completely Fictional Characters who act as Catalysts: John’s Dakota neighbors, Gerry and Jason and their circle of friends
> 
> Something to look forward to: Starting around Chapter 13 the story becomes more overtly J/P sexual, and the rating will change.
> 
>  **NOTE:** The story is still in the process of being transported into AO3. Originally any summaries or a name for the series hasn't existed; please keep this in mind. These things will be updated with time.

      John Lennon first learned about the Wednesday night “salon evenings” after he had struck up a friendship with some neighbors in the Dakota building. Gerry and Jason were in their early forties, a few years older than John. They shared a flat in the Dakota, and had lived there quietly together for 10 years. Gerry and Jason were gay, and - unusually for the 1970’s – they lived together openly as a couple, choosing not to refer to each other as “roommates” to their straight friends, but as “partners.” Of course, between themselves and their gay friends, they referred to each other as “husband.”  
  
 Being in a male homosexual relationship in ‘70s New York City was an iffy proposition. Although there were some gay activist groups already challenging the status quo and pushing for legal rights, more often than not their protests resulted in either jail or hospital stays. Gerry and Jason were of their generation’s “silent majority” of homosexual couples. They kept a low profile, and screened all acquaintances carefully for the twin qualities of open-mindedness and discretion. Consequently, they had very few straight friends, but they had a large number of wealthy and literate friends who lived a quiet gay lifestyle.  
  
 Gerry was a wealthy lawyer who specialized in trusts and estates, and his clientele were rich and discreet, like him. He was the more “masculine” in his interests and abilities of the two, and worried about such things as the couple’s finances and business opportunities. Jason, meanwhile, did not need to work but dabbled in freelance writing for literary journals, relying on his master’s degree in American mid-century literature. He was also a bon vivant and a bit of a loose cannon, and thus had gathered a substantial salon full of literate friends who lit up under Jason’s exquisite hosting skills. Still, you never knew what Jason might say or do when he was feeling mischievous. Gerry very frequently had to roll his eyes in company, and say wearily about Jason, “I can’t take him anywhere.” In short, they were extremely well matched, and had been a couple for over 15 years. They doted on their two miniature dachshunds, Hither and Thither. Jason, of course, had named them because of the way they scurried off in random directions together like a school of fish. The problem was that the names sounded so alike that both dogs responded to either name.  
  
 In fact, in a roundabout way, the dachshunds were the reason why John Lennon met Gerry and Jason. It was the spring of 1977, and John’s son Sean was a year and a half old. In the late spring the sky stayed light until after 7 p.m., so John had begun to take Sean out in a stroller for a walk every evening after the child’s evening meal, at about 6:00 p.m. John’s new schedule for taking Sean out on a walk coincided with Gerry and Jason’s long-standing schedule for walking Hither and Thither. They kept running in to each other in the elevator lobby or courtyard of the building coming and going on their respective walks.  
  
 One late May evening John stepped on to the elevator with Sean, and found it occupied by Gerry, Jason, and their dogs. Jason, being the most outgoing person on the elevator, turned to John and said:  
  
 “I see you coming and going all the time. I’m Jason, and this is Gerry. I’m excited about meeting you.”  
  
 Gerry flinched and shot an embarrassed and apologetic smile at John.  
  
 John was unpredictable about these kinds of introductions. If he was in a good mood, he could be quite funny, engaging and voluble. If he was in a shy, reserved mood, he could be polite but perfunctory. And if he was in a bad mood, he could be rude and dismissive. On this particular day, John was in more of a good mood. He smiled at Jason, offered his hand, and said, “I’m John, and this is Sean.”  
  
 “Oh, we know who you are of course,” Jason responded cheerfully. “We’d have to be complete morons not to notice.”  
  
 For some reason, this offhand remark caught John’s fancy, and he laughed. He decided to be open to a little more conversation.  
  
 “How long have you lived here?” John asked them, referring to the Dakota.  
  
 “Ten years,” Gerry responded.  
  
 “I’m a relative newcomer,” John noted; “it’s only been a few years for me.”  
  
 “Strange we’ve never met before,” Jason chirped. John was getting a kick out of Jason’s exuberance and his complete lack of self-consciousness and reverence.  
  
 “Not so strange,” John commented, as the elevator doors opened and they all stepped out into the lobby. “I didn’t live here through most of 1973 and all of 1974, and then since I’ve been back I rarely left the flat in the evenings until recently, because I like to take Sean on walks.”  
  
 Gerry and Jason of course knew that Yoko and John had separated for 20 months starting in early 1973, and did not reunite until early 1975. They also knew that while Yoko was living there during that time, John had not been.  
  
 There was an awkward silence after they all left the courtyard, passed through the welcoming guard gate and arch, and stepped out on to the sidewalk.  
  
 “Which way do you go?” Jason finally asked.  
  
 “Across to the park. I wander around there for a while, and then back again. Sean gets antsy if he is in the stroller longer than 40 minutes,” John said.  
  
 “So, do you want company or should we strike out in different directions when we hit the park?” Jason asked easily.  
  
 Gerry was embarrassed, and hissed, “ _Jason_!” He again looked apologetically at John and said, “I can’t take him anywhere.”  
  
 John threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a tonic, you are!” John told Jason. “Well, let’s walk together and if you piss me off I’ll banish you!”  
  
 The three men laughed and began their walk. As they walked, they talked. Gerry asked John what he was working on. John pulled out his bullshit answer, which was “some new material, and I’m also writing.” Jason perked up at that.  
  
 “What kind of writing? I’m a writer, too!”  
  
 John hadn’t expected that. He would have to vamp. “I usually write in the nonsensical style,” he responded. Which, in fact, was true. His “ _In His Own Write_ ” and “ _Spaniard in the Works_ ” were of that style of writing, and so were the short stories John had been working on for the past year or so. But those stories were – for the most part - not meant for other eyes to read. To change the subject, John asked Jason what he wrote about, and was told that Jason wrote book reviews for literary publications, including the New York Times Review of Books. John was secretly impressed, and decided never to claim to be a writer again in front of this pair.  
  
 John, wishing to be polite, asked Gerry what he did for a living, and Gerry very briefly explained his law practice, knowing it was a boring subject. John nodded politely. In this sedate manner, they eventually made it back from the park and back on to the elevator.  
  
 Jason said, “Maybe some time you can come in for coffee after the walk?” John smiled politely and said “sure”, knowing that it was highly unlikely he’d ever take them up on the offer. They parted as John stepped off the elevator at his floor, pushing his son’s stroller.  
  
 For the rest of that evening, John’s thoughts would repeatedly wend back to his conversation with Gerry and Jason. They interested him. John was by no means a naïf. He knew they were homosexual even though neither man was effeminate; he also assumed they were lovers since they lived together and said “we” all the time. But beyond that he understood nothing. It seemed extremely improbable to him: they were living together, and without elaborate cover stories or subterfuge. He had never heard of that before! John knew that the Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein had maintained lovers all throughout Beatle-mania, but they were all subservient to him, and Brian was smart enough to hire his lovers as “assistants”, and thus he had ready-made excuses for having these blokes hanging around him all the time. Beyond Brian, over the years in the entertainment business he had met many homosexual men, but he had not met any who lived for years in a monogamous relationship in front of straights. This subject was more than a passing curiosity to John, because John had always believed that no such arrangement would ever be possible. No, he believed it could only result in humiliation, disgrace and isolation, not to mention disaster for his music career.  
  
 Once John’s imagination was engaged in this way, he would become obsessed and relentlessly driven to figure his way out of the confusion. He needed to know more. That is why when he next ran into Gerry and Jason as they all returned from a walk in the park, John spoke up.  
  
 “Is that offer for coffee still on?” he asked, and was greeted with surprised and excited repetitions of the offer from both Gerry and Jason. John said, “let me get Sean set up with his nanny, and then I’ll come up.” He was given the apartment number, and Gerry and Jason scurried up to their flat, quickly tidying up the discarded newspapers and literary magazines off the sofa and floor, and rushing in to start the coffee. Not long after, the doorbell rang, and John Lennon was on the other side of their door waiting for them. Gerry led him into the flat, and John was immediately enchanted by the place. It reminded him of how he wanted his study in his old London home, Kenwood, to look like but never quite did.  
  
 There were lithographs and photos and paintings jam-packing the wall down the hall corridor, and the sitting room was like a giant library with stacks of books (complete with a moving ladder) covering three of the walls. The fourth wall, which featured a gothic fireplace, was painted a warm golden wheat color and was groaning with paintings, and the two huge sofas were deep green corduroy, and when you sat down on one of them, you immediately sank into its fluffy depths. On the bookshelves, in addition to books, were dozens of objets d’art, tiny lithographs, and small photographs in silver frames. The large picture window facing the park was framed by curtains made out of an eccentric geometric pattern in creams, browns, golds and greens, and the light coming through the window was a fading golden square on the Persian carpet. He felt immediately at home, but also he felt envy – envy that he had never been able to reproduce this kind of interest and warmth in any of the homes he had lived in, despite his attempts to do so. Yoko had decorated their home in England and then their Dakota apartment in all white with black accessorizing. The sofas were stiff and nothing was welcoming or comfortable. It was extremely trendy, though, and looked like pages out of a design magazine.  
  
 The sofa invited him to kick off his shoes and put his feet up, so he did. Jason handed him a cup of coffee, and they all made themselves comfortable. John suddenly felt shy, and began to wonder if it had been a good idea to come. He knew he was intensely curious about their life together, and had wanted to see their ménage so he could gain insight into what it might look like to live with a male life partner, but beyond realizing Gerry and Jason had exquisite taste and a lovely home, he was no closer to the answers to his questions. As they all sat there sipping their coffee quietly, Jason of course was the one to break the silence.  
  
 “We’ve never had a celebrity in our apartment before!” he announced proudly. Gerry’s head dropped into his open hand. But John thought it was amusing.  
  
 “I’m pleased to be the first; do I get some sort of prize?” They all laughed nervously, and then John decided to let his direct (some said obnoxious) curiosity go to work.  
  
 “So you live together, I see.” He said abruptly.  
  
 Gerry and Jason exchanged cautious glances.  
  
 “It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what worries you,” John continued. “I just never met anyone before who lived like you two do.”  
  
 Gerry smiled discreetly and said, “It is actually very common in our circle. But we keep very much to ourselves in this circle, and we don’t share much of our lives with outsiders. Most likely our straight acquaintances think we’re straight, too.”  
  
 John felt a pang of sympathy. “That’s a drag, isn’t it?” he asked. “I mean, what difference should it make to anyone else?”  
  
 Gerry nodded, but answered seriously, “It shouldn’t matter to anyone else, but for some reason it does. The trick is to be discreet, if you want to live a private life, so as not to be the subject of a lot of ridicule or hostility.”  
  
 John’s curiosity was now overcoming his reserve. “Do, like, your families know? How does that work?’  
  
 Jason smiled easily, “My mother calls me a ‘confirmed bachelor’ to her friends. I believe straight people think that is a way of saying you’re a eunuch or something. Obviously, if you’re not interested in women, you must be asexual. My mother doesn’t want to know too much of what goes on between Gerry and me. She calls him my ‘friend’, and we are ‘roommates’ to her friends if she is unable to duck the direct question.”  
  
 Gerry laughed and added, “My father never speaks about Jason. He pretends that he doesn’t exist as a part of my life – just some sort of friend I keep dragging to family events for some absurd reason. It is embarrassing really, as soon as he sees us together he starts talking loudly about baseball, you know, trying to get the masculinity flowing.’  
  
 John, in spite of himself, laughed.  
  
 Gerry continued: “My mother is more understanding, but she protects my father from the truth. To me, she refers to Jason as my ‘companion’, which I admit is far better than ‘friend’ or ‘roommate’. My sister is married to a very wealthy man, and invitations to their home pointedly exclude Jason, so I always ‘regretfully decline’.”  
  
 “So basically, you’re somewhat estranged from your families. Not because you want to be, but because they cannot accept you as a couple,” John summed up.  
  
 “This is true of our actual families, but what Jason and I have done over our years together is create our own substitute family – we have a close group of four other couples and we celebrate together as if we were a family.’  
  
 John digested this information, filing it under, “social ostracism” in the “con” file.  
  
 “These other couples – they’re gay too?”  
  
 “Yes,” Gerry said. “I am sure there are some open-minded and interesting straight couples out there in New York’s art and literature community, but it is impossible to know which ones would be truly open and accepting until after you’ve known them for some time.”  
  
 Jason interrupted. “One time we befriended this straight couple, and we had a great time every time we were together, and we thought we were a close part of their circle, which was entirely straight and very liberal in its beliefs. But then they rented a huge mansion in the Hamptons for the late summer, and all the couples were invited except us. We figured out that the idea of having two men sharing a bedroom was too much for them to contemplate. After that, we drifted away from that circle, and decided to stick to our own kind.”  
  
 “Do you feel isolated?” John asked quietly.  
  
 “Oh no!” Jason answered quickly and with great spirit. “The friends we do have are all fascinating. They are some of New York’s most interesting successful people. We have a nuclear scientist, and a brain research scientist, two poets, a painter, and a very well known architect amongst this group of eight friends. They are funny, well-traveled, extremely well-educated and literate, and we all have each other’s backs.”  
  
 “We just finally realized,” Gerry added, “that everyone surrounds themselves with people who are like them. So straights tend to pair off with straights, and gays tend to pair off with gays. It’s the way of the world, and you have to come to realize that you’re not missing anything. People are people, no matter what, and so you’re really just looking for friends who have similar lifestyles and interests.”  
  
 “See, that’s what I’ve always thought,” John interjected. “People are people. I don’t really see the difference in their physical bodies – just in their minds. People’s minds are different in an important way, but their physical differences are not important.”  
  
 The conversation diverted to more neutral but still interesting subjects. The three men discussed the books they were reading, and when John expressed interest in a few of the books Jason mentioned, Jason loaned him the books to read. They discussed the state of the theatre in New York, and world politics, and art. John felt he was faking it most of the time, because he was not particularly well read, knew next to nothing, really, about art or the theatre, and his politics were eclectic and zany in the extreme. But he was fascinated by Gerry and Jason, and their life together, and knew that he would be talking with them again.  
  
 It was almost 9 p.m., and they had not eaten dinner yet. They decided to walk to a nearby bar and grill, where they had a late night dinner of freshly sautéed fish. John hated fish, but ate the fish anyway. He wanted to feel urbane and sophisticated, and eating the roasted-almond crusted halibut with champagne sauce and mashed turnips with mint sounded the height of urbanity and sophistication at that moment. He found he loved the fish, and inhaled it in six or seven bites. Gerry had picked a very dry white wine from France, and John felt bathed in the warmth and comfort of the couple’s ambience.  
  
 While drinking their after-dinner coffee and aperitif, Jason mentioned the Wednesday “salon evenings” for the first time.  
  
 “You know, John,” he said, looking cautiously up into John’s face, which was looking more open and warm than it ever had done before in Jason’s experience of seeing John coming and going and from afar, “we have a salon soiree once a month on the second Wednesday of each month. It is rather like an ‘at home’, because it is an open invitation to certain people, and if they are free they come. It is after dinner, starting at 9 p.m., and we all generally start with whiskey or cocktails, and end with coffee. I’m wondering if you would be interested in attending sometime?”  
  
 John was nonplussed. He knew underneath it all he was a wanna-be intellectual, not an actual one; he was not an educated person, and was not particularly knowledgeable on any subject, not even music. But he knew he was at least entertaining, and people seemed to enjoy having him around. He hesitated only a moment, and Jason went on.  
  
 “Of course, everyone is gay, and you may find that to be awkward. But we’re all extremely discreet. You will never read about yourself in the news from anything we say. All of us are living secret lives to some extent. We only can be ‘real’ with each other. So we never ever spread gossip about each other. Do you think that would be awkward for you?”  
  
 John thought about Brian Epstein and all of his gay friends, and their dinner parties and garden parties. He had never felt awkward there, except for the occasional come-on from a guest, but there had always been at least a few other straight people around, too. But John was bored out of his mind in his dreary Dakota routine, and wondered if this group of men might at least act as a window to observe from afar another more interesting world.  
  
 “Sure, I’d like to give it a bash,” John finally said. He told himself that if the night came and he wasn’t up to it, he could always come up with some kind of excuse.  
  
Jason gave him the date for the next soiree – in two and a half weeks – and later that week when John ran into Gerry and Jason leaving for their walk as he returned, Jason handed him a card with the invitation to attend on it, complete with date and time. “I hope to see you there, John,” he said, as they parted in the elevator lobby.


	2. Chapter 2

 John had been living in a cocoon for over two years now, and while it was comfortable and safe, it was also stifling and boring. After he and Yoko had reunited in early 1975, she immediately became pregnant (with the help of fertility doctors), and she did not feel it was safe to have sex while she was pregnant for fear of losing the baby, as she had twice before. John had been excited about the baby, and sympathetic to Yoko’s concerns, so the forced chastity didn’t bother him overmuch. But ever since Sean was born in October 1975, Yoko and he had lived all but separate lives. Yoko lived on her side of the apartment, and generally slept in her own bedroom there. Occasionally, she shared the “master” bedroom, but only after John had demonstrated sufficiently to force her to agree to his sexual advances. These occasions were always disappointments to John, who felt he was making love to a mannequin, and they were extremely unpleasant for Yoko, who just did not feel sexual attraction for John’s version of sex any more.  
  
 Why this sexual attraction had waned so much, Yoko didn’t fully understand. Starting with their first real time together as committed lovers, in mid-1968, until the first rush of excitement of their new radical life together ended in early 1972, the couple’s sex life had been great. Yes, John cheated on her endlessly, even with women she thought were her friends, but they were one-offs and quickies, and his main passion was for her. But for some reason in 1972 John’s interest in her had begun to wane, and the two of them started picking stupid fights and pissing each other off. She felt John was going through motions when they had sex, and he seemed to prefer going out for one-night stand setups instead. John thought she didn’t know about the constant cheating, but she was no idiot. Of course she knew! Perhaps what bothered her most was that she wasn’t even jealous. She didn’t sit home and cry. She didn’t feel the need to seek revenge. Instead, so long as it remained a secret non-threatening habit, she was actually relieved at his night prowling, because it kept him away from bothering her.  
  
  _Bothering her_! Yoko’s thoughts came to an abrupt stop. Yes, that is how it felt to her. That John’s incessant demand for ever-more adventurous sex was a burden and even a bore to her. She had hoped as their love matured that he would want to develop a deeper emotional connection, and that their love life would become subtler and more enriching than just wanton thrashing about. But John’s ideas about ‘emotional closeness’ amounted to a kind of childish neediness. When he wasn’t begging her to engage in wild gymnastic sex in all sorts of odd positions, he wanted her to treat him like a child. He even had started calling her ‘Mother’. Yoko pretended this didn’t bother her, and on one level it didn’t. On one level she liked the influence and control she could exert over him by being his substitute ‘mother’ – or, more accurately – his substitute Aunt Mimi. But this was hardly satisfying to her as a woman. Still, Yoko thought honestly to herself, she had very mixed feelings about men generally, and having sex with men specifically. Her entire life men had let her down; she had had to fend for herself as a child and adolescent. She had taken control of her own education and career. While her first husband had been a cold, withholding man like her father, she had chosen for her second husband a dependent man who in turned bossed her around and then clung to her. Thinking it through now, Yoko realized John was exactly the same kind of man. A big talker, acting all independent, but underneath he was needy and insecure. She wondered what it was about her that attracted such men, and why she kept choosing them.  
  
 This led her to an errant memory. Back in 1966, when she first came to London to spotlight her _avant garde_ art with her first husband and their daughter, she had developed a huge unreciprocated crush on John’s songwriting partner, Paul McCartney. She had met him around the town’s art galleries, and had even spoken to him. Although he looked like a puppy dog- actually, his looks didn’t excite her - he had canny watchful eyes and a sharp intellect. He listened more than spoke, and when he spoke he had something interesting to say. He had an artist’s eye. He seemed to bore into her brain with his questions about her art influences and goals. He had asked intelligent and – the truth hurts – insightful questions about her work, seeing both the new and original, and the old and tired in it. He held himself back, and did not try to dominate the room with his personality like John did. Instead, his physical beauty, soft sexy voice, and intense listening skills made him stand out in a much more positive way. This was a dangerous man - a man to be reckoned with. Dangerous because you would never really know what he was thinking, and most likely she would never be able to plumb the depths of his soul. Yoko felt he was a worthy man to be her lover and partner; what’s more he was rich, influential, and unmarried! But all of her attempts to woo him, charm him, or arouse his curiosity in her personally came to nothing. He was simply not interested in her in that way, although he was genuinely intrigued by her art. On one level this enraged her; she accused him in her private thoughts of being a racist, a philistine, and a misogynist. But at the same time she knew this wasn’t true. No doubt he sensed the control freak in her, and since he himself was a control freak, steered clear of her bow. He didn’t want a full-fledged strong woman in his life, messing up his carefully developed plans.  
  
 Anyway, she had wanted and needed the notoriety a Beatles-mate would bring her; she was a very ambitious woman who wanted to push her art career as far and fast as she could manage. So she had settled on John Lennon, who was – at the time she met him - depressed, drug-addled, and completely bored by his suburban lifestyle. How ironic, Yoko thought, that here they sat 10 years later, and John was still depressed, drug-addled, and now completely bored by his allegedly _avant garde_ urban lifestyle. The man was incapable of sustaining joy; he was just not able to face the banality of everyday life. She now knew this about John Lennon: no one could ever make him happy, because he was so utterly miserable in his own skin. She had thought he had changed, grown, under her tutelage, but he was right back exactly where he was when she first met him. Lazing about on sofas, watching mindless TV endlessly, and staring blankly out into space with a sad, resigned expression on his face. She had basically given up on him. She liked being his wife because of the money, the power, and the influence it brought. But she was no longer interested in the thankless jobs of being both his resented ‘mother’, and his no-longer-interesting lover. She had moved on, and John was welcome to sit for hours in front of a television for the rest of his life for all she cared. She had a life to live, and she was going to get on with it. Thus, as long as he stayed in the marriage, she was quite happy to go on as they were indefinitely.  
  
 The night of the first Wednesday evening salon had arrived, and John was a nervous wreck. He was torn right down the middle between his desire to remain cocooned, and his intense curiosity about this forbidden lifestyle. This was a curiosity that more and more he knew was linked to a deep unfulfilled need and desire in his own psyche. To remain safe and secluded in his dull but comfortable life – or to venture out to wake up the hidden demons and perhaps disrupt his emotional stability again – that was the dilemma he struggled with that evening.  
  
 John had good reason to fear those demons. He had suffered through severe emotional instability for much of his life. In his childhood he had hidden behind a lively fantasy world. In his teen years he had volleyed between anxiety and depression, latching on to Elvis and rock ‘n roll music as a kind of vehicle to escape his fears and mask his anxieties. In his twenties – throughout the Beatle years – he had turned ever more increasingly towards drugs and other substances to self-medicate his ever yo-yoing depressions and anxieties, and, as that route usually does, it led him to even worse depressions, anxieties and insecurities. Yoko was going to be his savior, but they soon both dove into heroin use. Neither of them had ever fully pulled out of that, although both of them were lying to each other and the world about their continued use of that drug. Then there was the “lost weekend”, where he had given in to almost every forbidden need and desire, and as a result had careered totally out of control: _almost_ every desire, but not all, John quietly mused to himself, but that led him back to his demons. His return to Yoko and the birth of Sean in 1975 was meant to be his salvation, and for about a year – all of 1975 in fact – this optimism held. Sure, he and Yoko weren’t having much sex and she didn’t want to cuddle or sleep with him after, so he had to step out and get his needs met with discreet women on a regular basis. But John had never been faithful to any of his lovers. Of course, there had been _one lover_ he once believed he could be faithful to…but _that_ lover couldn’t be faithful to _him_ , and it was a no go anyway, so the fact that he cheated constantly on Yoko didn’t sound like a sour note to John at the time.  
  
 But now, over two years after their reconciliation, the excitement and hope had dwindled away, and he was stuck again in his own dreary head, living one boring day after the other in a kind of lockstep shuffle. He had even started to lose interest in the one-night stands. For a man who had always had a voracious sex drive, this was a sobering realization.  
  
 Nine o’clock came, and John – dressed casually in blue jeans and a t-shirt, and wearing flip flops – was still sitting in his own sitting room, staring blankly at the television and feeling anxiety dancing around in his stomach. He meant to get up and go, but his legs didn’t seem capable of responding to the signals. It was 9:30 p.m. before John’s demons forced him up off the sofa, out the door, into the elevator, and to Gerry and Jason’s door. He rang the bell, and then thought he could still make it to the stairwell before they opened the door if he hurried. But again, his legs weren’t responding to the signals. The door flew open and Jason’s face lit up with delight when he saw John standing there.  
  
 “John! I was afraid you weren’t coming! Come in, come in!” John followed Jason silently, his heart beating loudly in his chest. What was he so nervous about? They were just a group of people he never met. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with thousands of times before. Even as he tried to allay his fears, he was thinking to himself that his fear was aimed at what this evening would stir up in his own subconscious, and had nothing to do with the men he was about to meet.  
  
 John stepped into the sitting room and was presented with a cozy tableau. Gerry was ensconced in the large comfortable armchair, Jerry had been perching on a slip chair near to the passageway door, and there were five men there, all dressed in a casual elegant style that put John’s jeans and t-shirt to shame. They all stared up at him, having abruptly stopped their lively conversation upon his entry, and a very awkward silence hung over the room. Suddenly, one of the men hilariously declared –  
  
 “A Beatle!” and held up his whiskey glass as if making a toast. Immediately, all the other men laughed and raised their glasses too, shouting “A Beatle!” and they all took a sip of their drinks. John laughed. They made room for him on one of the big green couches, and Jason brought him a tumbler of aged Scotch whiskey.  
  
 “Gentlemen, meet John Lennon!” Jason announced. “In case you’re wondering, he is our token straight guy.” There were some nervous chuckles, and John smiled at Jason, grateful that Jason had made that clear. The last thing he needed was to see the headline in the paper: ‘John Lennon seen at gay party’, or something like that. Jason’s declaration gave John credible deniability, and that was comforting to John.  
  
 Soon, John had been introduced to the five other men, and indeed they all were elegant and well spoken, and as the general discussion picked up again, John soon felt he was watching a very erudite and witty play by Noel Coward. After about 30 minutes, Jason announced that it was “question time”. As if in unison, everyone took a quick sideways look at John, who looked perplexed.  
  
 “What’s question time?” John finally asked Jason.  
  
 “I hope you don’t find this too strange, John, but we always spend some time on these evenings discussing our separate answers to a given question.”  
  
 “Okay…” John said, although he didn’t really understand.  
  
 Gerry saw John’s confusion and jumped in with a more direct and practical explanation.  
  
 “These questions are generally very personal, and one of us each night has a turn to come up with the question, and then each of us in turn responds as truthfully as possible to the question. Of course, no one is forced to participate. It is not truth or dare.” The men all laughed nervously, staring at John uncomfortably.  
  
 “Are you sure you want to expose yourselves in that way to me?” John asked. “After all, I’m a complete stranger to you.”  
  
 “Can you be trusted not to repeat anything you hear outside of this room?” Jason asked.  
  
 “Of course,” John answered quickly. “My whole life I have been exposed and betrayed by friends, business associates and even family members. Apparently, stealing and selling a bloke’s secrets is more lucrative than robbing him at gunpoint.”  
  
 Everyone murmured sympathetically.  
  
 “Anyway, I understand how it feels to be betrayed that way. I wouldn’t do it to any of you. But still, if you’re not comfortable with it, I can go home. It’s just an elevator ride away.”  
  
 The men as a group were quick to discourage John from leaving, and assured him that they would be discreet too. Gerry then said, ‘Again, John, you might find this weird. Men like us don’t have many venues where we can talk out loud about our feelings and experiences, and in a sense this group of men is like a support group. We allow each other to vent in safety.”  
  
 John considered Gerry’s comment and joked, “you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen and heard in my life - the bar scene in Hamburg! The swingin’ ‘60s in London! The radical left political scene of the early ‘70s! Coked up Hollywood in the mid 70’s! I’ve been there, and done that. There isn’t much that can surprise or shock me, really.”  
  
 Satisfied with John’s disclaimer, Jason said to one of the men, “Dan, I think it’s your turn tonight.” Dan nodded, and, leaning forward he spoke in a conspiratorial manner, “Tonight’s question is: have you ever gone through a phase in your life where you trolled clubs and bathhouses for anonymous ‘dates’? If so, what do you think drove you to do it? And if not, why not? Do you have curiosity about what it was like?”  
  
 Whoa, John thought. This was indeed personal, and it was indeed private. From across the room, Gerry saw John’s expression.  
  
 “John, you don’t have to participate. We understand that we’re a bunch of strangers to you, and you aren’t comfortable discussing your private experiences with us yet.”  
  
 Jason then interjected, “And I don’t think straight guys hang out in trolling clubs and bath houses anyway, so it doesn’t seem as though he’d have any such experiences!” Everyone, including John, chuckled at that.  
  
 The men began to tell their stories, one by one. John was all ears, and said not even a word. He was intensely curious about what the men said, and he was also sexually aroused by the blatant descriptions of what went on in the clubs and bathhouses. While they all thought the conversation was irrelevant to John, John knew better. He remembered during his 20-month separation from Yoko, freed from her control and wasted on drugs and alcohol, he and his drinking buddy Harry Nilsson had wandered in and out of gay bars and clubs both in Hollywood and New York. John had been searching for a face he could never hope to find, and Harry just wanted to hang out with John. John had come on to a number of men, but once he had talked to them for a while he had lost all interest, and retreated from the field. This one had something of the look of the face he was searching for, but then he would have a terrible Brooklyn accent, or be stupid as a rock. That one would have a slow, sexy voice, but looked like a plump college professor. This one would have a certain familiar dark sense of humor, but his body would be too thin, too fat, too tall, too short. They would wear glasses (wrong!), or were too masculine, or too feminine, or they would be too shy, or too outgoing, too quiet or too loud. He did find a bloke in New York who had a face somewhat reminiscent of his ideal, and his voice and body weren’t too objectionable. But the kid insisted he was straight, and refused to give him a blowjob. It was hopeless.  
  
 John, of course, said nothing of this to the other men gathered in the cozy sitting room, and he dismissed these thoughts from his mind almost as soon as they encroached. As the evening ended, John excused himself and went home. In his bedroom, his womb, he curled up under the covers and, with the dark settling around him, his imagination went wild. Forbidden thoughts seemed to be leaking in from the cracks under the doors, and slithering down the chimney. An echoed voice repeatedly haunted his dreams, but John could never quite make out what it was saying. It wasn’t spooky or demonic. It was a beautiful low voice, speaking conversationally. John reached out for the words with his hand but came back empty. A few moments of welcome silence would go by, and then “John!” he would hear, and he would again concentrate very hard to hear what was said, but it was like hearing a voice through a wall. It was frustrating, but he finally fell in to a deep sleep.  
  
 He awoke with a start and a thudding heart at 4 a.m. He had been having an intense dream about trying desperately to have sex with a much-desired lover. But obstacles kept intervening, and despite his every effort he just couldn’t seem to get to this lover’s arms. Suddenly he felt a weight hitting his bed – like an exuberant lover diving on top of him playfully. That is what awoke him, and he sat straight up in bed, listening to and feeling his heart thumping. He turned on the bedside lamp, and could find nothing and no one on his bed. He must have awakened himself with his own body movement. He forced himself to breath deeply and steadily for a few moments – where had he learned to do that? His treacherous brain reminded him of a dear soft voice whispering in his ear as strong arms held him tight across his chest; “Enough, enough! Calm down now. Take a deep breath, Johnny, count to four, take another breath, concentrate on your breathing…” In that moment he could almost feel the warmth of this other presence as his anxiety attack slowed to a halt. And he could almost _smell_ this presence… _Stop_!  
  
 John stopped himself abruptly and got out of bed. He washed his face in cool water, and went to look in on Sean sleeping soundly in his crib. This never failed to calm him down when he woke up scared from a bad dream or a bad reality. He silently watched the baby peacefully sleeping until his heartbeat went back to normal, and he recovered his sense of time and place; the demons were finally back in their cage. As John straightened out his sheets and climbed back in bed, he told himself sternly that he would _never_ attend another one of those Wednesday evening salons again!

 


	3. Chapter 3

 John intended never to attend one of those soirees at Gerry and Jason’s again, although he frequently met with the couple in their comfortable gold and green sitting room after their daily walks. They spoke of many things, but not about what happened on the last soiree until Jason finally raised the issue on the day before the next soiree.  
   
 “Did we scare you away, John? Do you think you’ll attend again?” he asked gently as they sipped their coffee in the warm dusk of the evening.  
  
 John responded carefully. “Scared me? No, no, it was interesting. A side of life I know very little about. I just don’t know what it is I would have to offer a group like yours. My experiences are so very different.”  
  
 “Do you really think so?” Gerry asked with an almost idle curiosity.  
  
 “Well, I haven’t lived a gay lifestyle…” John started.  
  
 “Oh, we know that, John, but I guess I’m asking whether you think homosexual relationships are really that different from heterosexual ones. I bet there are more things in common than there are differences. You could learn from us and we could learn from you.”  
  
 John was stumped. He saw Gerry’s point. His experiences with women – the dance clubs, the hotels, the crazy after show parties – none of that was much different from the bathhouse and gay club experiences the group discussed at the last soiree. It was just that John hadn’t attended the soiree to learn more about his heterosexual feelings and memories; he had gone there to basically eavesdrop and live vicariously through _their_ memories. He felt a bit of a fraud at that moment, and felt bad that in a sense he was using these two very kindly men.  
  
 “I’m not feeling all that well today,” John said. “I’m just bone-tired, don’t know why. I’m not sure if I’m coming tonight, because I might go early to bed.”  
  
 Gerry and John nodded, clearly disappointed he might not be joining them, but understanding how it felt to be utterly exhausted.  
  
  When it was 9 p.m. however, John felt compelled to go. He had been trying to talk himself out of it for an hour, ever since Sean had gone to bed, but he literally felt the need to go as a compulsion. This time he dressed for it; he wore some tight beige jeans and a nice shirt, along with some bright white Converses. As he dressed to go something drove him to open up and look in a disused wooden box on his dresser. Inside he found a number of old, no-longer-used items of jewelry. But then he saw what he was looking for - the necklace he had brought back from India in 1968. It was a very simple thing; a short leather thong with little beaded adornments. It had been a spur-of-the-moment funny gift from his...partner. Sort of like a joke. (“ _Don’t say I never gave you anything John_!” his partner said laughingly, as he handed over the necklace he had just bought from a young child selling trinkets in the town square. The child had told them that the necklace had “magical properties”, and his partner had turned to him and joked, ‘ _That’s right up your alley, you git_.’)  
  
 Remembering, John’s hand reached out and picked it up, fondling the green and white beads. Without thinking, he put it around his neck and then stared at it in the mirror, his hand hovering over it protectively. He had worn that necklace obsessively for two years - long after the friendship was over. It was almost as if he felt he had a piece of the gifter with him at all times, and that perhaps the necklace had a warding off power as a result. He hadn’t even looked at the necklace in years now. What made him think of it now? Wear it now? John was not a stupid man. He knew the answer but chose to dismiss the thought from his mind before telling himself what it was. But he left the necklace on, and went straight to Gerry and Jason’s flat. He was one of the first men there this time, and didn’t feel quite so awkward, now that he knew most of the men.  
  
 When it came to “question time” one of the men introduced the night’s topic: “What was your most memorable sexual encounter – I mean, without respect to relationships, just the sexual encounter itself – which was your best?”  
  
 John blanched. He didn’t want to act like an eavesdropper again; he had hoped this would be a question he could answer too, without exposing himself too much. As the men described their most memorable sexual encounters, John became incredibly aroused. It had been a long time since one of his night prowls, and he was thinking he would need to set one up very soon. As the time approached for him to speak, John almost decided to pass again. But then he thought he could answer this question, because he didn’t have to say who the lover was; he just had to describe the encounter, and why it was his most memorable. But which encounter was his most memorable? There were so many of them! Honestly, it had to be the first time. Yes, the very first time. All the sex was memorable, but there was something so magical about the first time, because up until the moment his desired one capitulated, John had feared that he was going to be rejected. He had waited four years – _four years_! – for that first touch, that first time a taut, naked thigh brushed against his thigh, and – most importantly - the first time he saw his friend overcome with passion for _him_ , John Lennon.  
  
 As his mind was lingering amongst these delights, he gradually noticed the room was silent. He came back to earth and noticed all the men were looking politely and expectantly at him.  
  
 “Are you tired, John?” Jason asked gently. “Do you want to pass?”  
  
 John smiled nervously and said, “No, no, I was just lost in my reverie. All of this talk about great sex has turned my brain to mush.” Everyone laughed heartily, and everyone looked relieved.  
  
 “My most memorable sexual encounter happened to me when I was in my early twenties, before I was famous. I had – for years – been suffering from what I thought was unrequited love for this extraordinary young …[he only paused a brief second; it wasn’t noticeable to any of his listeners]…woman. She was my ideal of what a lover should be. Strangely, I think she still is. I knew I didn’t deserve her; she was so far above me in every way. I felt it was hopeless, but something inside me would not give up on the fantasy. I guess, in a way, I was obsessed. But after years go by, you occasionally lose hope, and you try to find someone else to fill that spot you’d reserved for your ideal. Of course, no one can fill that spot. They can occupy it for a while, but their inability to really _fill_ it means that soon you will move on to someone new.” John stopped while he took a long swag on his cigarette, followed by a quick sip from his whiskey glass. “And, in time, that one will disappoint you too and you move on again and again…”  
  
 John looked around to see if his audience was getting bored. They weren’t. They were all leaning forward, rapt. After another drag on his cigarette, John continued.  
  
 “I finally decided I was going to have to go for broke. I had a little money, and I asked her if she wanted to go on a little trip with me just to get away from the everyday grind. I expected her to decline and explain all of the millions of things she had to do at home, at work, for her family. But for whatever reason she was fed up with her life at that moment, and she said ‘yes!’ and she was quite excited about it. My heart felt hope at that moment, because if I had been totally out of the question for her she would never have said ‘yes’. Still, I knew she thought we would have a platonic trip; I had never made an overt move on her, and had only ever behaved as a friend to her, and I didn’t think she suspected even for a moment about my true feelings. I had been too afraid of her pushing me away in disgust and losing her even as a friend.”  
   
 The men listening to this story were nodding gently, having “been there and done that” all themselves. They were deeply interested and moved by John’s story.  
  
 “Anyway, we found a hotel, and after a day or so, I raised the question. We were in a little café, it was late, and we had just finished dinner. We were drinking some heavy dark coffee, and I found the nerve to broach the subject. I said that I knew it would be a surprise to her, but I had always wanted to have sex with her. She surprised me. She said, ‘I knew that – I knew you fancied me…’ I didn’t know what to do or say. I asked her ‘how could you know that?’ and she said, ‘you’re my best friend; how could I not know?’ I didn’t know she thought of me as her best friend. I didn’t know she understood me that well. It was as if I was seeing her for the first time. I felt a little braver, and I asked her if she would have sex with me. She was very resistant at first. She was afraid it would ruin our friendship, our part…, well, our friendship. She wasn’t sure she could even be attracted to me in a sexual way, and was afraid it would hurt my feelings if she couldn’t follow through…I pointed out that if she said ‘no’ it _would_ hurt our friendship. If she said ‘yes’ and it didn’t work out, it _might_ hurt our friendship, and if she said ‘yes’ and it worked out for us, it would _strengthen_ our friendship, so the worst scenario was to say ‘no’.”  
  
 John took a deep breath. His mind’s eye was nowhere near that New York sitting room – it was focused on two huge brownish-green eyes – framed by impossibly long thick eyelashes – the expression in them dark, moody, and unknowable. In concentration, the beloved face always looked as though it were in some kind of pain - the eyebrows were knitted, the nose was slightly pinched, the mouth shaped like a small puckered mew, and the exquisite cheekbones looking ever more prominent and even hollowed out a bit. John was fixed for what seemed like a long time by such an intense stare – such as only this one face could muster – and John could tell the gears were moving inside the beautiful head. To John, in that moment, the desired one’s thought process felt like a roulette wheel. John forced himself back to the sitting room, and continued his story.  
  
 “She finally sighed and said, ‘I’ll do this for you, but only because I care about you, and I don’t want to hurt you. If it doesn’t work, please try not to hate me.’ My heart started beating again – for a while it had completely stopped – and then I was filled with exhilaration. I felt sure I could make hi..her [the gender change was very quick, and not noticed by the audience] love me. I felt sure I could do it. I just never thought …she… would surrender long enough to let me prove it.”  
  
 John’s audience was grinning happily and awaiting the happy ending to this story, and John – the old ham – started feeling fond of his audience.  
  
 “I can’t describe it accurately enough, or with enough feeling, the first time we touched in a sexual way, as opposed to touching as just friends. It seemed every time I felt her skin I had an electric shock, but in a good way. Once we were there, naked – in the bed – I didn’t know what to do! I had never got this far in my daydreaming.”  
  
 The men all laughed, surprising John. He looked up and smiled sheepishly.  
  
 “I don’t know why I hadn’t laid down a strategy, or some kind of plan. And I suddenly was incredibly shy and afraid to touch…afraid to maybe do something that would turn her off. She was laying there, on her side, leaning on her elbow expectantly, and she finally said – in a joking manner – ‘I thought you wanted to jump my bones!’”  
  
 John’s audience laughed again, raucously. Jason suddenly blurted out, “What a broad! I like her a lot!’ and the others laughed in agreement. John joined in weakly. His memories were taking over, and he was deathly afraid he would slip and use the wrong gender. It had already happened a few times, but he had caught himself in time, thank heaven.  
  
 “I turned off the lamp, because I thought if the light was out I’d feel less shy and awkward. So as my eyes adjusted to the dark I could still see her silhouetted there, head on hand, leaning on elbow, facing me. She finally took pity on me. She reached out and touched my arm, and tugged slightly, encouraging me to move closer towards...her. Soon, we were in each other’s arms. It felt like heaven to me. Heaven. I still could not do anything. From the dark I heard, ‘John? What’s wrong? Do you want to stop now?’ I finally found the courage to blurt out, ‘No! But my fantasies always have you on top!’”  
  
 The audience gasped and laughed and stirred in anticipation of “the good part”.  
  
 “’Well,’ I heard, ‘I’ve had some practice at _that_ anyway. I might be able to pull it off.’”  
  
 “In fact –“ Jason yelled out – “I think I now have a crush on the girl myself!” Much laughter followed this remark.  
  
 “She pushed me back against the mattress, and I felt her legs skimming my thighs, and she was on top of me. I had been completely and utterly aroused this whole time. My dick was as hard as a stone and was huge and aching. When she realized how it was, I could feel her pull back a bit. You know, like, ‘whoaaa…that’s scary.’ But she was always quick to pick up new things, so soon we were moving, rubbing our bodies together. I can’t describe how delicious it was. My eyeballs were literally rolling up into my head! I could feel it! My toes were curling, and I even got a cramp in both my feet at once, the sensation was so strong. I didn’t have time to think of my lover at all; I was completely in my own head going, ‘oh god! That’s her touching me on the thigh; Oh god! That’s her touching me on my dick! Oh god! That’s her touching my balls!’ It was fucking unreal, and each new sensation brought another thrum through my whole body – I would jerk and spasm every time she touched me. I never wanted anything so much in my life – all I wanted was for it never to stop. I started feeling like I was going to cum, and then I suddenly remembered I hadn’t paid any attention to my lover! Here I’d planned to show her why she couldn’t live without me as her lover, and yet I had completely ignored her! So I took my hands, and grabbed her ass cheeks. She had the most amazing ass, you would not believe. I mean, really. Never have I ever seen a lovelier ass. I am an ass man, after all. When I grabbed the ass, her whole body shuddered, and we began to literally devour each other. I couldn’t help it any more, and I came. As soon as I got my breath again, I flipped her over on to her back. I went down on her. I gave the best head I ever gave before or since. I was so fucking grateful she was there with me, and I wanted her to be as blissed out as I was. It was the most amazing moment of my life when I looked up and saw her face while I was licking and sucking. Hi..her face was full of mindless passion. I felt this great thrill go through me when I realized it was me – I was the one making her feel that way!  
  
 “It was an incredible release, that fuck. And afterwards we held each other as we slept. I was a bit worried about the morning – what would happen and all. But I needn’t have worried. Dawn was just beginning to peak through the windows in our hotel room when I felt her moving against me. She wanted another go! There was never a more satisfied human being than I was at that moment.”  
  
 John thought about it for a brief moment and recalled another – less pleasant - detail of that night. “We didn’t kiss though,” John said quietly, almost unaware that he had said it out loud. He then realized his audience was watching him. “We never really kissed each other. We just fucked a lot and held each other. Somehow, kissing was too much for her, too intimate and telling, and I wasn’t secure enough to demand it of her.”  
   
 John leaned back, having finished his story. His audience had been leaning on every word, and they all burst into applause when he finished.  
  
 “You’re a natural storyteller,” one of them said to him. "I shouldn't be surprised."  
  
 “I forgot this was a real conversation, and thought I was listening to porn,” another one said.  
  
 John felt he had accomplished his goal and had managed to tell the truth on most particulars, while keeping secret the dangerous part of the story. He no longer felt like an outsider amongst these men; they now had shared secrets with each other, and that night John climbed into bed with a smile on his face and fell right asleep.  
  
 It was a few hours later when the demons and voices came again. They invaded John’s dream. John could feel that much loved thigh on his leg. He felt the little nudge in his side that meant his lover wanted more sex. His own hand could feel the thick, black hair, and his stubby cheek could feel his lover’s stubby cheek. As John had often done in such intimate moments - late at night tucked away in some secret corner after a rousing fuck and a few hours sleep - he turned towards his lover in his dream state and actually said out loud, ‘ _No words_?’ And his lover would always whisper back, ‘ _No words for my love!_ ’ How that joke haunted him later! How those words hurt when they took on a completely different, bleak meaning.  
  
 John awoke suddenly with that memory, the sad words frozen on his tongue. It was like a stab in his heart. Again, his heart raced and his breathing was labored. Again, he turned on the bedside lamp and took stock of his normal surroundings. Again, he splashed cool water on his face, and hovered over the crib of his sleeping son while he gained control over the anxiety. Again, he straightened out his sheets and got back in bed. This time, however, tears coated his cheeks. He hadn’t cried in forever. His heart was breaking again. Fuck! How many times can one man’s heart break over the same moment in time? It was going to be another long and really lonely night.  
  
 Again, he said to himself as he tossed and turned, ‘I will _never ever_ go to another one of those Wednesday night soirees!’


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein John begins to understand _why ...._

 John had been writing in his journal on a fairly regular basis since he had reconciled with Yoko in 1975. But it was some weeks after the second Wednesday night soiree that John found the courage to address in his journal the issue of the bittersweet memories he’d resurrected. Of course, John had to be careful what he wrote in his journal, since he suspected not only Yoko but also his servants of poking around looking for his personal stuff. Yoko would do it in order to keep track of what John was thinking and feeling, and to head off any crazy ideas he might be considering, and his personal assistant or the servants would be looking in order to stockpile blackmail ammunition in the event he ever wanted to fire them. It could be so tiresome being this famous; John felt it was especially tiresome because at this point – it had been years since he had released an album – he was primarily famous for being famous, and not for anything he was actually doing.  
  
 John had long since learned to write in a kind of code. Certain names and words were given code names. In addition, he had a secret hiding place for his journals and his private writings – under an old floorboard in his closet. He was always concerned the maid might find it, so had to be careful what he put in that hiding place. He once buried his personal writings in the lining of a suitcase, but Yoko had found those and he had hell to pay when she read letters he had received from some of the women he’d had brief affairs with.   
  
 So as John wrote in his journal he tried to be as short and bland as possible:  
  
 “ _Spoke up tonight. I don’t really know these people, so if they betray me that’ll teach me for good. But somehow I don’t think they will. Discussed my first real love affair from when I was a kid_ [this will keep Yoko’s suspicions from arising if she reads this, John thought _] and that was all. It did feel liberating to share a little bit of myself in a safe environment, but I had difficulty sleeping afterwards, and wonder if I should avoid any future meetings.”_  
  
 John read it over four separate times to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything in that might be used against him later. While saying little, this short journal entry - when read months or years later - would be sufficient to bring back the full memory of it for John’s private reflection. That’s all his journal entries were at this point – signposts to trigger his full memories. Satisfied, he returned his journal to its secret spot.   
  
 Now having written (however obliquely) about the last Wednesday evening salon in his journal, John began to think about how fun and satisfying the salon evenings were to him both emotionally and intellectually, and so gradually, over time, his fear of self-exposure lessened. He began to think: Surely his reactions the last few times were to be expected, seeing as how he had not allowed those memories to invade his thoughts for some time now. Clearly there was no reason to assume this would happen again.   
  
 After skipping several months’ worth of salons, he had finally screwed up his courage sufficiently to return. He told himself the reason he was going was that he didn’t want to keep making excuses to Gerry and Jason, so he should attend periodically. Fortunately for John, the next few salons he attended did not involve provocative question times. John was able to add his two cents in these situations without compromising his forbidden memories, so was not haunted by ghosts afterward.  
  
 It was in early 1978 that “question time” revolved around the question of long-term relationships and their benefits and disappointments. Apparently one of the group members had recently split from his long-term partner, and another was going through a very difficult phase in his. John was so busy guarding his “demon” memories that he forgot to consider his present everyday life, and the effect his disclosures with respect to it might damage him. So, when it was his turn, he was quick to bring up his relationship with Yoko, thinking it was sufficiently divorced from his secret thoughts as to be a safe topic.  Having utterly forgotten that he had always maintained the “John  & Yoko” legend in prior salon meetings, he said way too much about the problems in his marriage. Once he got started, he found he couldn’t stop.   
  
 “I have never been able to maintain a close relationship with a woman for longer than a few years, and I have never been able to be faithful, either. It’s like I invest everything in a lover, and then she lets me down, and then I’m over her. My expectations are all out of whack. I think I want to be controlled, and then when I am, I get pissed off about it. Yoko can’t please me no matter what she does. I have come to believe that I am incapable of a stable long-term relationship. A friend of mine once told me it is because I am ‘an untrusting bastard.’”  
   
 John smiled unconsciously as he remembered Paul yelling that at him on the phone sometime in the early ‘70s. Then he remembered the rest of the conversation. Without thinking he segued into that memory:  
  
 “That was after I accused him of trying to be nice to me only because he wanted something out of me.”  
  
 John’s reverie called back the resulting fallout from that comment:  
  
  _John: I went to the trouble of moving to New York to get away from you! That fucking island was too small for both of us!_  
  
  _Paul:  I’m living on the very edge of a crag in Scotland – one step backwards I’m in the ocean! I couldn’t get any further away from you and still be in the UK! What the fuck else do you want from me, you bloody great baboon!”_  
  
  _John:  Stop calling me!_   
   
 And then they had both hung up simultaneously, each desperate to be the first one to do so. _Ahhh_ , John thought wistfully, _the good old days_ …  
  
 He drifted back from his daydream to notice all the guys were staring at him, confused. One minute he was talking about his inability to have a long-term relationship with a woman, and suddenly he was channeling memories of some random friend! John pulled himself together then, and went back on topic.  
  
 “Anyway,” he said, “as I was saying…I do believe I am incapable of trusting anyone enough to ever let my guard down. I mean, when your own parents desert you –not once but several times over, in seriatim, you tend to grow up thinking at any moment the rug will be pulled out from under you, and in fact the rug has been pulled out from under me so many times I’ve lost count.”  
  
 John turned to Gerry and Jason. “You guys fascinate me because at least on the surface you seem so perfectly matched and happy. Is it real, or is your relationship as fucked up as everyone else’s?”   
  
 Everyone laughed, and John was relieved to have the attention shifted elsewhere.   
  
 Gerry responded first. “It isn’t and hasn’t always been perfect. You go through phases when you ask yourself why do I put up with this lummox! And then you go through phases when you find yourself thinking you could never survive without him. Most people, I think, bail at the first sign of trouble. They never find out if they could have a deeper, more meaningful and lasting relationship because they’re not willing to wait out the bad times.”  
  
 These words were swirling around in John’s head when he went home. As he thought about the discussion, it suddenly occurred to him that he had dumped all over his marriage to Yoko in front of a room full of people! What if one of them told the press! _Crap_! Life felt like such a minefield for John at times. _Well, John Boy, you’ll soon find out if you can trust these blokes_ …  
  
 That night the ghosts returned. The dreams felt real – little scenarios, like scenes out of a movie of his life, kept running through his half-awake brain. For some reason one particular scene kept replaying. He was walking into the cafeteria at Abbey Road around teatime, and it was right after _Magical Mystery Tour_ had been shown on the BBC for the first time. The film had been the Beatles’ first and only critical flop, and John, George and Ringo had all been busily backpedaling away from the project with all their might, wanting to forget their own input into the film, so as to be able to dump the entire flop in Paul’s lap since it had been his original idea. While John felt a little bad about this, he didn’t feel bad enough to share the blame with Paul in front of the others, much less the world. He looked around the cafeteria and he saw Paul sitting at a table idly stirring a cup of tea. He was staring blankly into inner space with that inscrutable “ _I’m in Paul Land_ ” look that John knew so well. John joined him.  
  
John:     I hope you’re not dreaming up another project for us, Paul, I’m not sure we can take it! [John laughed a little to show it was just a tease].  
  
Paul:  [After wincing visibly]  No, I won’t be having any more ideas any time soon. [Paul’s voice was dead serious.]  
  
John:     I was only joking, son.  
  
Paul: [Mustering up a faint but unconvincing smile]  I know.  
  
John:     I liked the film myself. And the idiots showed it in black and white and edited the shit out of it. No wonder it didn’t show to advantage!  
  
Paul: [Nodding slightly in agreement, but still looking Sphinx-like]  Umm hmm.   
  
Silence fell over them, as Paul kept stirring his tea.  
  
John:     Are you going to drink that tea, or just stir it to death?  
  
Paul: [Ignoring the comment]  …Umm, John, have you ever felt like the world was falling in on you?  
  
John:     What? Because of one lousy review?  
  
Paul: I’m not talking about that anymore. I mean – just life in general. You get depressed a lot, and I was wondering how it feels to you. Does it feel like the world is falling in on you?  
  
John:     You’re creeping me out now, ‘ _pud_.   
  
Paul: [Impatient]  Could you just answer the bloody question?  
  
John:     [Surprised by Paul’s vehemence, John sobered up.]  No, I usually feel as though I can’t move my body. I just want to flop on the sofa, turn the TV on, and I have no energy. I think dark thoughts, but then I stamp them out of my head by doing drugs. Why do you ask?  
  
Paul: Just curious is all.  
  
John:     Are you feeling as though the world is falling in on you?  
  
Paul: [Looking off into inner space again as he answers:]  Sometimes.  
  
 John was struck dumb at this admission. Paul – depressed and overwhelmed! That had never happened before! A frisson of fear ran down John’s spine. Paul was supposed to be the strong, stable one in their dynamic. John absolutely depended on that dynamic. Paul had to retain his _savior faire_ no matter what happened around him in order for John to find life bearable. In reaction, John was overwhelmed with anxiety about his own emotional stability and needed to divorce himself from it immediately.  
  
John:     Hey, mate, I know what you mean! Life is a drag sometimes. That’s why I’m glad you’re basically a robot. We can’t have two drama queens in one little partnership, now can we?   
  
John waggled his head and presented his most endearing grin. Seeing this, Paul seemed to snap back to his senses, straighten up his shoulders, and a smile appeared on his face.   
  
Paul: Yeah, you’re right.  I’m being silly.   
  
John then changed the subject.   
  
 Back in 1978 New York, John awoke after the third or fourth time this scene had chased through his brain. With each viewing the emotional content of the scene changed subtly. The first time he ran it through he felt only his own fear and insecurities, but by the fourth time he could only feel the fear and insecurity that Paul must have felt to actually admit he was depressed to someone else. That must have been hard for him to do, given his need to always appear in control of his emotions, and funny how John hadn’t given it any thought at the time, or since.   
  
 Why is this bothering me? John asked himself. What am I trying to tell myself? He noticed his hands were shaking slightly, so he turned on the light and tried to read. He wasn’t really concentrating on what he was reading, but suddenly he knew why the scene was bothering him.  
  
 Paul had been in emotional trouble, and he had been reaching out for help from his best friend, and his best friend had just unceremoniously shut him down. Belatedly – 10 years too late – John felt the empathy he should have felt for Paul back then.   
  
 Once this _apercu_ made itself known to John, the other scenes he had been visited by began to make sense, and the puzzle was almost complete.   
  
 For example, that time after he got back from Spain after acting in ‘ _How I Won the War_ ’ – when was that? Late 1966? He had come back to London to find Paul deeply ensconced in this very sketchy crowd of swinging, serious drug-takers: several of the Rolling Stones and that Robert Fraser guy especially had suddenly developed a huge amount of influence over his Paul. “ _His”_ Paul. Now, years later, John still felt the jangle of regret course its way down his spine as he silently repeated those words.   
  
 John had finally tracked Paul down in the Bag ‘O Nails, blasted out of his mind on some weird drug, and sitting with this new group of friends and some strange woman. Paul was seriously wasted. This caused a spasm of alarm to John’s sense of security and stability. He had dragged Paul out of there, and shoved him into a cab, directing the cabbie to 7 Cavendish Avenue, Paul’s bachelor pad.  
  
John:     What the hell did you take? [Whispering so the cabbie wouldn’t hear him.]  
  
Paul: [Loudly; oblivious to the cabbie]  Little blue pill!  
  
Well, _that_ was helpful.  
  
 When they arrived at Cavendish, John dragged Paul up to his bedroom, and basically dumped him on the bed. By this time Paul was hallucinating out loud:  
  
 “Watch out! They’re coming!” [Paul ducked as if to avoid an oncoming object.]   
  
  _The Luftwaffe must be dive-bombing us now,_ John said to himself, shaking his head. Somehow avoiding Paul’s wind-milling arms and legs, John managed to remove Paul’s shoes and tuck him in. Afraid to leave him alone in this state, John lay down on the bed and listened worriedly to Paul’s incoherent ramblings for another 15 or 20 minutes until Paul finally fell into a restless sleep. John then lay awake another hour, processing the evening’s events. Paul wasn’t supposed to be the fucked up one! That was his – John’s - role! John felt deep anxiety in his stomach, and was determined to break Paul away from that crazy crowd. Fortunately, the next morning Paul woke up right as rain, with very little memory of the night before. While he continued to hang out on the fringes of that wild crowd for a little while longer, he did back away from the worst of their exploits. And – most important to John - he returned to being the (outwardly at least) strong, stable person John needed him to be.   
  
 Now, in the early morning hours in another country and another time, John finally asked himself the question he had not asked at the time, or any time after: Why had Paul gotten swept up into that crowd? What was he seeking when he went there? It was entirely out of Paul’s character to do that stuff – he really didn’t have an irresponsible bone in his body. What could have driven him to behave so irresponsibly? John didn’t have the answer because he had never asked the question. This was yet another of his failures to be there for someone who had always been there for him.   
  
 He finally worked it out. It was what Gerry had said. “ _Most people bail at the first sign of trouble. They never find out if they could have a deeper, more meaningful and lasting relationship because they’re not willing to wait out the bad times_.” This was what had triggered these lost, painful memories. There had been so many opportunities to create a living, breathing connection with Paul that could have stood the test of time, and yet, alas, there had also been an equal amount of his failures to take advantage of those opportunities. This acknowledgement – made years too late – caused John’s tears to fall yet again. He was unable to fall asleep.   
  
  _I’m going to have to stop going to those damn salons_ … he promised roughly to himself as he turned over in bed for the millionth time.


	5. Chapter 5

 The early months of 1978 were flashing past John’s window in a parade of weather systems: slashing rain, crashing hail, strong winds that made howling sounds as they careered through the canyons created by tall buildings, and, finally, gently weeping raindrops that seemed to just barely kiss the windows in his sitting room. John saw it all from his perch on the window seat. John had buried himself back in his cocoon. He had felt emotionally brutalized by the memories that haunted him after those “question times”, and had begun to think of those salon nights as one might think of a trip to the dentist – a cringe-worthy event to be avoided at all costs.   
  
 Why should he subject himself to that much pain? It isn’t as though there was a damn thing he could do about it now, so many years later. He was torturing himself for nothing. He and Yoko did not have a happy marriage, but it wasn’t unbearably horrible either. She handled the finances brilliantly, and the house ran like a tightly run ship. She was intelligent company on those few occasions when they would sit quietly in the sitting room together; that is, on those occasions when they didn’t end up snarling at each other. But it was subdued snarling – all done _sotto voce_ so that each of them could then infuriatingly say “Nothing!” when the other one would ask accusingly, “What did you just say?”   
  
 At times such as these he longed for the one companion who always confronted him directly – without fear - when they were at odds: “ _Let it out and let it in, John!_ ’ he would shout. ‘ _If you’re thinking it, you should be saying it_!’ And John would say it, and his companion would react back, and then it would usually eventually devolve into hilarious repartee, with both of them competing for the best comeback. “ _You wanna fight about it_?” Paul would finally shout in a ludicrous accent. “ _No,_ ” John would respond like a scared little mouse. They usually ended up laughing their asses off before it was over.  
  
 Then there was the John & Yoko silent War of the Ambiance. In all their years together they had engaged in this underground war. They never spoke of it directly. John would be in a room with the lights on and the windows open. He would go to the kitchen or the bathroom, and he would come back to find the lights off or lowered, and the windows closed. So then Yoko would leave for a moment, and John would put it all back the way he wanted it. In the colder weather, John would be turning up the heat, and Yoko would follow behind him and turn the heat down. In the hotter months, Yoko would be turning up the air conditioner, and John would follow behind her and turn the air off, opening the windows that Yoko had so recently closed. John would turn on the television or the stereo because he liked the comforting sound as background noise. Yoko would turn the sound down or even turn the appliances off as soon as John left the room. The truth was, Yoko preferred a quiet, secluded, shaded, cool environment, and John preferred warmth, light and noise. John mused about this phenomenon as he sat in the window seat, watching the misty rain. “It’s amazing we haven’t killed each other yet,” John joked to himself.   
  
 He cast his mind back to the early days, when he spent most of his time with someone who also preferred warmth, light and noise. No amount of distraction bothered Paul, John remembered. He chuckled to himself as he remembered Paul banging out piano chords, deep in his own thoughts, while all around him people were laughing, joking, and even sometimes throwing things. A bleeding bomb could go off next to him, and he wouldn’t notice! He asked Paul once, “How can you compose with all this craziness going on?” Paul had laughed and said, “When it’s too quiet, that’s when I can’t think.” John had felt the exact same way.   
  
  _Thinking about Paul again_ , he grumbled to himself. He always started out thinking about his relationship with Yoko, and ended with comparing it unfavorably to his relationship with Paul. If he was going to be doing this anyway, he might as well drop in on a salon night or two at Gerry and Jason’s and have a laugh or two, right? Good idea.   
  
 So that’s why John went to the May Wednesday evening salon after missing the previous two. The question that night was: “Describe the one true love that got away.”  
  
  _Crap_! John shouted at himself. His mind did a quick canter around the ring of his memories, looking for the pitfalls. There was no question but that there was only one love that had gotten away. And there was no question but that John was not – _WAS NOT_ – going to talk about it! Should he just pass? Should he punt, and say he didn’t have one? Or should he camouflage his love again, dress him up like a woman, and then tiptoe through the story worrying about using the wrong words? He decided he was just going to pass this time.   
  
 After the first two stories, John was thinking maybe he would just say he never had a love that got away. The stories were so interesting, and he was enjoying losing himself in other people’s problems for a change. He didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere by passing. Better to lie and say there was no such one. A few more fascinating stories were told, and then, inevitably, the circle came ‘round to John. He opened his mouth to say, “I never experienced that”, but instead this came out:  
  
 “It was someone I knew in the sixties, before I knew Yoko. I have never gotten over it.”  
  
  _Did I say that?!?_ John could hear his conscious mind freaking out over this compulsive slip.   
  
 Jason expressed surprise. “I thought Yoko was your one true love. That is what you have always said.”  
  
 “I say a lot of things I don’t mean,” John joked. “For all you know, I don’t mean _this_ either.” He could tell by the looks on the faces of his audience that they were disappointed and a little bit hurt by this cavalier comment, and he felt bad that he had so summarily dismissed the question.   
  
 He tried again:  
  
 “I don’t like to think about it. I don’t like to remember it. It is easier for me to pretend like it didn’t exist. That way, I can retain the illusion that my life turned out the way it was supposed to turn out.” John finished this statement with a clownish smile, the facial expression designed to cast a web of doubt over the truthfulness of the spoken words.   
  
 Several of the men were looking at him with deep compassion. Evidently they had seen through his screen defense. It almost made him want to weep. But he pulled himself back from that embarrassing brink.   
  
 Jason asked, gently this time, “So tell us about this woman. Why was she so special?”  
  
 “I’m not sure I can explain it, Jason, honestly. Sometimes your heart knows things that your brain doesn’t translate very well. I couldn’t have chosen a more unlikely love object if I had actually been trying. It was the same one I told you about before – my best sexual encounter. Maybe it’s because we were friends for years before we became lovers. Maybe it’s because it was so impossible – the whole affair. I do tend to want things I can’t have, you know. It isn’t one of my better personality traits.” John stopped to take a few cigarette drags and gather his thoughts.  
  
 “But, if I’m being honest, it’s because once I laid eyes on ...her, I simply could not see anyone else. No one else could ever compare.”  
  
 “That’s pretty heavy, John,” one of the men said.  
  
 “Yes it is heavy. It is a burden I carry with me always. I probably always will. You know what I mean: all the I should have saids, should have dones, wish I hads, wish I hadn’ts. All the words of love that were literally screaming to be let out of my mouth, and me unable to say them to her. And it wasn’t all my fault. She had serious intimacy problems. She didn’t like people getting close to her. She had a fucking moat, complete with alligators, around her all the fucking time! I know I saw this as a challenge, and it probably helped to fuel my obsession with her, but it was also hurtful and frustrating." John had lost himself in his memories and thoughts, and - for this vital moment - had either forgotten his audience, or forgotten to be afraid of them. John didn't know which, and didn't care. He recklessly continued, following his own inner train of thought.    
  
     "She wasn’t capable of being faithful to me. She had hundreds of lovers; a never-ending stream of them. I had no idea how she kept all those lovers straight; she probably didn't. She was actually living with one of them! I couldn’t say anything about it, because I was married to Cynthia at the time. So this made me insecure, and when I’m insecure I get nasty, and when I get nasty I lash out, and when I lash out I do it to inflict pain and I take no prisoners, and so I inflicted a lot of damage. The jealousy I suffered! You have no idea! And I couldn’t say a fucking word about it, because it would sound ridiculous. It was doomed to failure because after years of this nonsense, she ended up wanting what I had – a spouse, a child, a quiet life in the country – and I ended up wanting what she had – a crazy city life. We were never on the same page at the same time.”  
  
 John forced himself to stop. He had said way too much. He surveyed his audience suspiciously. No one looked too avidly interested; no one looked skeptical or judgmental. Still, the sounds of his words were echoing, and he was furious with himself for revealing too much. He needed to finish the story quickly, and then mitigate the damage. His voice changed from intense and breathy, to calm and unemotional. “Anyway, you can see it was going nowhere. We took it as far as we could, and then she realized that it was going nowhere, and she ended our love affair."   
  
     But again John had lost himself in the flashes and echoes of the past. He was speaking his private thoughts out loud again: "Honest to god she actually said it: ‘ _I hope we can remain friends_ …’ Can you believe it? Can you fucking believe it? I’m not proud of it, but I struck out when she said that. I pushed her against a wall and was going to strike her, but she fought me off." John's anger had propelled him quickly through this last remark, and he caught himself up again. He saw that everyone was staring at him with mouths agape and minds aflutter. Embarrassed, John petered out: "It didn’t end pretty, as you see.”  
  
 The room was dead silent for several seconds after this recital. Someone cleared his throat. Finally Gerry broke the silence.  
  
 “I’m so sorry you went through that John,” he said quietly. “I hope we haven’t stirred up memories that will bring unnecessary pain to you.”   
  
 John stared at him in surprise for a moment – surprise that Gerry had been able to put a finger on exactly what happened whenever John attended one of these salon nights – and then he forced himself to smile, and reverted to his laconic, cynical voice. “Oh, I’m thinking about it all the fucking time anyway; no stirring is necessary.”   
  
     After John's revelations, a pall of disquiet hovered over the group, and the session soon broke up with desultory goodbyes.  
  
    A heightened sense of awareness from this session followed John home. He felt strangely invigorated and antsy. He had trouble settling, because he was being stalked by a weird and frantic energy. He sealed himself up in his bedroom, and went to the storage unit in the window seat. He pulled out several boxes, and found at the bottom of one of them a faded and dog-eared 9 x 14 manila envelope. He pulled the envelope out and double-checked his door to make sure he had locked it. It was the third time he had checked. Feeling like he used to when he was a teenager at Mimi’s house, pulling out his porn magazines for late night perusal, John opened the envelope and pulled out the riches contained therein. There were a dozen or so photographs in the envelope. John hadn’t pulled these photographs out in years.   
  
 The very first one hit him straight in the eye. The photo was a 5” x 7” black and white photo circa 1964. The subject of the photo was jaw-droppingly beautiful. He was naked, but a bed sheet covered the most interesting bits. He was on his side on a bed with his head propped up on the palm of his hand. Huge dark eyes seemed to be consuming the camera lens that was directly in front of him at eye level: the eyes also seemed to look past the lens to the man who held the camera. There was a slight channel between the subject’s eyebrows on the bridge of his nose – a wrinkle connoting perplexity - as if it pained him a little to make that deep psychic connection with the cameraman. The perfect pouty mouth was slightly open as if the subject was caught in the act of asking a serious question of the photographer. His free hand was captured in the blurry act of reaching out towards the camera.   
  
 John remembered everything. The place was the Plaza Hotel in New York City. The time was August 1964, at about 2 a.m. after a Beatles performance. The subject of the photograph, taken by John, was Paul. They were in bed, and John was fooling with the camera Brian Epstein had given him a few months earlier. The photo showed nothing truly naughty going on. It was an intimate photo, yes, but not overtly sexual. Still, it brought back the memory from that night. Paul had been reaching for the camera, and telling John to stop taking his picture in such private circumstances. Once Paul had gotten ahold of the camera, he had initiated some spirited foreplay with John.   
  
 John pored over the photos, soaking up all the intimate images. Each photo featured Paul, taken by John, and all of them were taken when they were alone. The photos triggered memories, and Paul was coming alive to him again. He remembered Paul’s sexy voice, and the crazy way he talked. Paul said the wackiest stuff sometimes – you never knew what was going to come out of his mouth. Sometimes he sounded like Jim McCartney, and sometimes he sounded like his Auntie Gin. Or he would sound like a giddy teenage boy before turning into a wise, caring elder. And then suddenly he would say some outrageously inappropriate thing that would shock the hell out of even John. He could be totally ignorant of the most obvious things, but then wordlessly understand the most complicated things. Paul was a virtual kaleidoscope of opinions and observations, and John had loved so much to turn the scope and see the different patterns.  
  
 And then there was the _way_ he spoke, in that intimate but rational tone, each word clearly pronounced, and his hands doing acrobatics while he talked. John smiled warmly at the memory of Paul talking, with his hands flying around every which way. This had always enchanted John, and whenever Paul did it John knew he would get the goofiest little grin on his face watching it. John thought it was cute – grown up voice but little boy physicality – that was Paul in the early to mid ‘60s. Halfway through Beatle-mania, Paul had changed – well, John guessed that they all had changed - but that little boy physicality was gone by 1966. John missed that little boy. Replaced by a watchful, distrusting and mature adult. Replaced by a man who kept his arms and hands sort of knotted up around his chest and face, as if to ward off invasion from the outside world. The wide-open boy with the wide variety of silly expressions and coltish arms and legs had vanished. Remembering this, John felt wistful. At the time he didn’t appreciate this about Paul; he felt it was uncool, even a little embarrassing. But once Paul had been ridiculed enough – mostly by John himself – he closed that side of himself off, and went in to protective mode. This was not a pleasant realization for John. It was like a light bulb going on over his head. He – John – was in large part responsible for turning Paul into a cautious, cynical interview subject and conversationalist. If he hadn’t made, or encouraged others to make, relentless fun of Paul publicly and privately for his patent boyish enthusiasm, Paul might not have felt it necessary to change so very much. _Yet another way in which I have failed Paul_ , John thought to himself.   
  
     All this was causing havoc with John’s accepted view of why Paul had ended their sexual relationship. John had blamed it on Paul’s fear of exposure and his old fashioned ideas about sexuality, marriage and parenthood. John had felt that Paul didn’t love him enough, or he wouldn’t have been afraid of sticking with their relationship the way it was. However, John was beginning to see now that perhaps Paul had needed– at that low period in his life - someone who loved him just the way he was, and who would be kind and forgiving to him instead of harsh and judgmental. What if John’s treatment of Paul was the _real_ reason Paul had needed to break away?   
  
 By this time the surprising euphoria he had briefly felt after he had revealed a bare side of himself to others had worn off, and it was with a deep feeling of loss and loneliness that he packed up his sad, secret stash of photos, and put them back in their hiding place. He knew he was not going to be able to sleep properly, and he was certain that the Ghost of Paul would be back to disturb his peace that night.   
  
 Why couldn’t he resist the urge to go to those damn Wednesday evening salons? All they did was rake up a whole pack of bittersweet memories and hurtful insights. And could these men be trusted to protect him from this apparent compulsion he had to expose himself?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally catch a glimpse of Paul and Linda

 In the spring of 1978, John sent his personal assistant out to purchase Paul McCartney’s newest album release, “ _London Town_.” John always got Paul’s new records as soon as they were released, and then he would listen to them repeatedly until he understood all the lyrics. He would then try to figure out which songs were about him. The thought that Paul might not write any songs about him did not occur to John. Of course he would! John believed he was still the center of Paul’s earth, just as Paul was clearly still at the center of his earth. John didn’t like to think that he was just a footnote from the past in Paul’s current successful life. That caused a brief moment of badly suppressed envy to course through John's veins. This because John long ago had to accept that Paul’s life without him had been extremely successful. Far from bombing out on his own, Paul had built the most successful post-Beatles career of all of them. In truth, John had always feared that would be the truth. Paul not only had a special talent, he also had the drive, the work habits, and the willingness to take risk, and so he was bound to be successful.  
  
 What _had_ surprised John was how Paul had forged such a successful marriage. He had thought Linda would last two years; then he thought she would last only another three years. John never expected Paul to be faithful to his wife, or to keep her in his band all these years. And Paul now had a fourth child – a son – and the family seemed to be getting tighter and happier day by day. Paul’s success haunted John. It caused resentment and envy. These are never good emotions to have about an old friend. Still, John hoped that Paul would be acknowledging him – acknowledging their indestructible bond – in song lyrics, so he put on Paul’s album, and began to read the lyrics sheet.  
  
 The one that jumped out at him immediately was a song called “ _Café On the Left Bank_ ”. This song was not about forbidden feelings or emotional longing. It was a fun-spirited romp down memory lane, back when they were just boys really, and when they had first become lovers. John remembered being embarrassed by the loud British football fans shouting in the café while he and Paul tried to have a sophisticated conversation with Jurgen Vollmer. He remembered seeing people watching the DeGaulle speech on TVs through a shop window. Also the continental breakfast at the pensione where they stayed, and the dancing after midnight…once in front of the Paris Opera House before they were lovers, with Jurgen laughing his head off while John and Paul sang (badly) the libretto to a make-believe opera. And second, after they had become lovers, in that corny old folks gay supper club, where one wealthy French man after the other had tried to pick up Paul, much to Paul’s flustered embarrassment, and John’s possessive indignation. While they danced that night, Paul had softly sung along with the pianist – in John’s ear - “ _Red Sails in the Sunset_ ”.  
  
 The Café song made John very happy. Yes, Paul was shouting out to John with this song to prove that he remembered too. A feeling of nostalgia passed over John, as he replayed the song several times.  
  
 Further down on the lyrics sheet he came across an oddly titled song: “ _Name and Address_.” Paul used his Elvis voice when he sang it. John was acutely aware that in the past Paul used his Elvis voice as a way to privately signal that he was singing to John, such as in the song "Best Friend". This is why John spent so much time pondering the lyrics:  


_Our love affair was over on the second day  
_  
_You packed a bag and like a birdie flew away  
_  
_Meanwhile I’m sitting here, I'm getting in a mess  
_  
_If you want my love, leave_ _your name_ _and address  
_  
  
_I used to love you baby, when I was your man  
_  
_But maybe loving you is something no one man can do  
_  
_Meanwhile I'm sitting here, I’m getting in a mess  
_  
_If you want my love, leave your name and address_  
  
_Love to feel the tingle of your heavenly_ _caresses_  
  
_Love to intermingle, a lonely single without addresses  
_  
_If you want my love, leave your name and address_  
  
_But if it's all over baby, you know I'll understand  
_  
_Maybe I'll hate to think of you with another man  
_  
_Meanwhile I'm sitting here, I’m getting in a mess_  
  
_If you want my love, leave your name and address_  


 This certainly wasn’t about Linda. She definitely had never left Paul, and Paul had never left her. And certainly Paul would not write a song like this to some other woman he’d loved or had an affair with, at least not with Linda singing the back up vocals! There was always the chance Paul had just made it up out of whole cloth, he certainly was capable of doing that and had done that many times. But still, there was something about this song that made John believe it was at least in part about him. Some of the phrases…” _I used to love you baby, when I was your man, but maybe loving you is something no one man can do_ …” Could this be a reference to the fact that John was constantly falling under the influence of other people – like Stu Sutcliffe, and Brian Epstein, and the Maharishi, and Magic Alex, and Yoko…Of course, all of these people eventually let John down, and every time he was let down he would go back to Paul. Except for the Stu Sutcliffe thing, it never seemed to John that Paul had missed him, or even noticed that John wasn’t around. But might Paul have been hurt by this, and just hid that hurt from John?  
  
 “ _Love to intermingle, a lonely single without addresses…_ ” This was an odd line. John hadn’t realized when he started a sexual liaison with Yoko in May 1968, how lonely, depressed, and adrift Paul was at the time. John had been too wrapped up in his own drug use and personal problems and interests to even notice. Yoko had been an exciting diversion from all that gloom. If Paul hadn’t ended their sexual relationship just then, John doubted very much he would have married Yoko much less run off to New York with her. At the time, he thought of Yoko as an exhilarating but also convenient way to get out of his marriage to Cynthia, move out of the suburbs, and break through his creative block. He fully had expected that Yoko would let him down in some way eventually, or he would become bored with her, or both, just as had happened with all those other people, and so he had also fully expected that he would be going back to Paul when the Yoko thing fizzled out. But was it possible that Paul saw the Yoko fling as a last straw? It was hard to say, because Paul was a closed book, but the songs Paul wrote at the time sounded suspiciously like he was suffering over their separation.  
  
 If John had to bet, he would bet that the _Name and Address_ song – although camouflaged with extraneous material – was meant to be about him. If so, what was Paul trying to tell him? “ _If you want my love, leave your name and address_ …” Whoa! Could that really be Paul’s way of saying he wanted John back? John felt a jolt of excited energy go down his spine, and suddenly he could hardly sit still. He went to his bedroom, locked the door, and pulled out stationary. He would write to Paul, leave a few open-ended statements, and see whether Paul would respond.  
  
_Dear Paul,_  
  
  _I just finished listening to your new album, and I see what you were going for – more melody. I especially like two of the tracks, ‘Café On the Left Bank’ and ‘Name and Address’. I remember all that stuff about Paris, too. Thanks for the nod._  
  _I like your Elvis voice on ‘Name and Address.’ Brings back some memories. Remember when we met the Man Himself? And afterwards you put on those sunglasses he gave you and you pretended to be ‘Pelvis’? Elvis would have had a conniption if he knew what we got up to after we left his place! Or maybe I shouldn’t bring that up._  
  _I know I was rude to you when you last dropped by – was it really two years ago? I was nervous and confused, and didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry. I hope you’re happy and all is well._  
  
  _Love, John_  
  
_P.S. – You know my name, look up the number. Hehe._  
   
 John decided to sit on the letter for a few days; he didn’t want to be precipitous. There were certainly a lot of clues in the letter, and if Paul was so inclined he might call. On the other hand, if Paul was not so inclined, it would be embarrassing if Paul thought John was still hankering after him in vain.   
  
 The letter never got sent. A day or two after John had written the letter, and before he sent it, Paul was interviewed by _Rolling Stone_ magazine behind his new album, and when asked why he thought John Lennon was not recording, he had said something like “ _I don’t think John knows what he wants to do_ …” To anyone else this would be an innocuous statement, but to John this was an outrage! How dare Paul say that about him to a reporter! John immediately got on the line to Jann Wenner at _Rolling Stone_ and began raving about the nerve of Paul to say anything about his present state of mind, seeing as how they hadn’t even spoken in two years, “and the last time I saw Paul I threw him out of my house!” This of course was published, and when Paul had to do a televised appearance on American television shortly thereafter, the reporter repeated what John had said to Paul on the air, embarrassing him, and Paul had responded, “I didn’t mean anything by it; I’m doing something new now. I’m not going to talk about John at all.”   
  
 John was watching the live interview, of course, and when he saw Paul’s hurt and angry face, John felt bad. _Why the hell do I keep shooting myself in the foot?_ John asked himself _. Why did I have to react like that? Now Paul won’t even want to talk to me again!_ Later, upon reflection, John decided he must do this on purpose. Every time he got close to reaching out to Paul and risking being hurt again, he did something unforgiveable that would push Paul even further away.   
  
 The depression fell over him again. For a moment there he had toyed with hope and excitement. But now, as it always happened, he was back in the dumps again. He was in this low mood as he made his way to a Wednesday evening salon at the end of 1978.   
  
 There was a full turnout. All eight members were there in addition to John. This rarely happened. It was Christmastime and the apartment was dressed in real pine boughs and hundreds of little white fairy lights. A hot alcoholic cider was emitting a heavenly aroma from the sideboard, and freshly made ginger cookies were harmonizing with that aroma. Candles burned instead of lamps. It was warm and cozy – and frozen rain was slashing against the window, enhancing the sense of comfort and safety inside.   
  
 The question this night was relatively benign. _What was your best Christmas ever?_     
  
 Unfortunately for John, there hadn’t been all that many great Christmases. Mimi had a way of sucking the life out of any holiday with her disapproval of emotions and mindless traditions, so his childhood and teenage Christmases were not filled with the stuff of overly happy memories. Of course, he didn’t know that his Christmases were bereft of joy until he met Paul. Paul and that crazy humongous family of his – two Irish clans, one Protestant, the other Catholic - and all the uncles, aunts, and cousins: hilarious sing-alongs where everyone would drink too much and the children were allowed to run amok all over the house, threading like speeding torpedoes between the adult revelers with an almost bat-like sonar. John had been amazed the first time he was exposed to one of those free-for-alls. And Paul and his Dad were at the center of the chaos, taking turns banging away on the piano and dredging up old songs from their memories, remembered chord for chord and word for word. John remembered how confusing it had been to him; what had they to celebrate? The year before Paul’s mother had died. Jim and his two sons had been devastated. Most of the family members were just scraping by financially, living in council estates and some of them on the dole. How could they be so full of confidence and cheer in the face of so much uncertainty and sadness?   
  
 Paul had tried on a number of occasions to explain about families to John, and how they worked and why they were good, but John was willfully ignorant on the subject. He didn’t really have a recognizably cohesive family himself, so that was his idea of ‘normal’, and Paul’s slavish devotion to his father, brother and the rest of his family irked John.   
  
 Looking back on it 20 years later, John wondered if what really irked him was Paul being devoted to people other than him. John wanted all or nothing. He wanted one person to be his, and his alone, without having to share. He didn’t want to have to fight for influence over this one person; he didn’t ever want to hear, ‘ _I can’t, because I have to_ ….’ This was a part of Paul he hadn’t counted on when he had first met him. So, on that long ago Christmas, after he had allowed himself to become deeply invested in this boy, this alluring boy, he found out that there were all sorts of levels and compartments in this boy’s life that were foreign and unapproachable. John felt at a loss at those McCartney/ Mohin gatherings, and nothing else had ever made him feel so like an outsider.  
  
 And Christmases during Beatlemania were hastily thrown together affairs, sandwiched in between the Christmas pantomimes and television appearances, and the January tours. He might have enjoyed the Christmas mornings with his infant son Julian, but he was too tired and depressed to get into it. He had gotten so used to living with Paul and the other Beatles – on the road – that it was always a slight let down to be at his own home, alone, with just his wife and son, and god help him, his mother-in-law, for company. Strange that, because when he was on the road, he desperately missed Cyn and his son! It seems his whole life he always wanted the thing he didn’t have, and then when he got that, he didn’t want it anymore.   
  
 Well, _almost_ everything was like that. There was one thing he had wanted, and when he got it, he never wanted to lose it. But of course, he had found a way to sabotage it.  
  
 Christmases with Yoko had been ruined ever since the time Yoko’s ex-husband had agreed to drop their daughter, Kyoko, off at the Dakota, but Kyoko had never shown up. Yoko had been gutted by that, and felt unable to get into the Christmas spirit. And who could blame her? Of course, Yoko blamed him for this – his plot to grab Kyoko from her father and wrest custody away is what led, in Yoko’s mind, to her losing contact with her daughter forever. This meant, of course, that John‘s unspoken punishment was that he could not have a relationship with his own older son, Julian.  
  
 As the salon guests shared their best memories, John’s turn to speak was getting ever nearer. When it was John’s turn he said his best Christmas was _this_ Christmas – 1978 – because Sean was three and was finally able to fully understand and participate in Christmas’s mystical properties. This was the politically correct answer to the question, and John managed to maneuver his way through the evening without giving away any secret part of himself. As a result, he suffered no ill effects from his attendance at the salon, and even managed to sleep through the night without having disturbing memories.  
  
 However, on Christmas morning as Sean was ripping up the wrapping paper and shouting out with joy at each new toy, John did remember another, more intimate Christmas that was truly his “best” Christmas ever. It was 1961, a few months after he and Paul had become lovers. Paul was still living with his dad. John had shown up outside Paul’s window on Christmas Eve, and pitched pebbles at it until Paul opened the sash and looked down. No words were said - just a flitting grin. Taking this as an invitation, John climbed up the drainpipe to the window, and Paul pulled him in. Paul's brother Mike was asleep close by in the next room, behind paper-thin walls, and John and Paul were hushing each other as they situated themselves on Paul’s bed.  
  
 “I’ve brought a present,” John whispered.  
  
 Paul looked fondly at John, but with a kind of bemused wonderment, as he unwrapped the little box. It was a harmonica - an extremely good quality one, too. Seeing this, Paul laughed out loud, and then quickly shooshed himself, remembering Mike. He pulled a gift out from under his bed and handed it to John with a dramatic comic flourish.  
  
 Seeing the size of the box, John spat out, “Oh no you didn’t!”  
  
 Paul just shrugged as John tore open his present. It was the exact same harmonica! Like _Gift of the Magi!_ They both fell about the bed with silent giggles. It was hard to stay quiet. And then, as John lay there on the bed with the last remaining vestiges of smothered hilarity leaving his face, Paul, who was leaning over him, had gently brushed the bangs out of his eyes – the new Beatle bangs – and had kissed him ever so lightly on his lips. Paul had never allowed kissing between them before, and this kiss was extremely chaste. John held his breath, hoping for more, but nothing more came.  
  
 From the darkness he heard, “Happy Christmas John.”  
  
 John would have to be satisfied with that. And, in truth, he was. Like the proverbial inchworm, if he kept at it, slowly but surely, he would eventually breach Paul’s elaborate defenses. John wasn’t a patient young man, in fact quite the opposite, but this was a virtue he was going to have to learn if he was going to be in love with Paul McCartney.  
  
 And so, John realized as he came back to the present, the salon curse was still with him and had come full circle. It again brought back unwanted buried memories of his one true love.

*************

  
 The detritus from Christmas with four excited children had finally found its way into the trash, and the house on Cavendish Avenue had almost returned to its pre-holiday status. It was early January 1979, and Paul was up late into the early morn with a tumbler of Irish whiskey. A fire was burning in the hearth, and Linda had gone up to bed hours earlier. Paul had intended to follow her after a few minutes, but for some reason he had not been able to bestir himself; the effort to get up, go upstairs, undress, and get in bed had been too much to even contemplate.  
  
 Paul was in a melancholy mood. This happened to him much more frequently than anyone ever knew. He had learned from his parents as a young child that it was inappropriate to moan and groan about life. You just had to pick up and move on, and take the bad with the good. Everyone else had problems, too, and they didn’t need you dumping yours on them as well. Paul and his brother Mike had both taken this training to heart, and they both had a tendency to trot out eager-to-please smiles and nonsensical, self-deprecating small talk in lieu of showing pain, fear, anxiety, irritation or depression. No, Paul’s melancholy was reserved for times when he was absolutely alone. He wanted no witnesses to his private sufferings.  
  
 Years earlier, in the aftermath of his break up with J…the Beatles, Linda had seen him crash and burn. This was a truth that humiliated Paul at some level – that someone else had seen him thrashing against the rocks due to loss and fear – even as at another level, Paul was grateful to Linda for being there, being the strong one for him, when he couldn’t get his legs under him. Paul smirked a little. Yeah. Levels. Layers. Compartments. John always accused him of having too many of all those things. John usually did the accusing while he was trying to ransack the compartments, and strip away the layers. Why had it felt like a rearguard action all the time, Paul wondered. Why had John kept encroaching on his private territory, and why had he, himself, been so vigilant about blocking John’s incursions? It was a never-ending battle, John to conquer him, and Paul to maintain his sovereignty. A delicate balance that had to be maintained, Paul thought, because if John ever did tear away all those layers and get into all those compartments, there would be nothing to stop him from losing interest in him entirely, and leaving him behind, as John always did to people when he lost interest in them. And then he, Paul, would have been left with no defenses against the loss.  
  
 Paul smirked again at his own thoughts. As it turned out, it didn’t matter, because John left him behind anyway – even though he had never surrendered his deepest self to John. Same result. Maybe Paul had said the words ending the sexual affair, but John had been growing away from him as a friend and creative partner for years before that, step by agonizing step. Even after all these years, Paul was still badly hurt that John had allowed their close friendship and creative partnership to fade away without even _trying_ to fight for it. _I might have just as well given in, and seen what happened, given how it all turned out anyway._ Paul shook himself and sat up a bit. He was not oft given to such introspection, and was innately uncomfortable with psycho-babbly answers to unanswerable questions. So he dropped the line of thought, and shored up his defenses once more.  
  
 But a moment later: _I wonder what John is doing right this minute?_ It still seemed unbelievable that somewhere, at this exact moment, John was living and breathing and experiencing life too. There was a time when he had believed they couldn’t possibly exist outside of the sight of each other. But somewhere out there that is exactly what John was doing: living life without him, and apparently very happily too. This was another unwelcome thought, seeing as how it had been Paul’s decision – not John’s - to end their sexual relationship so he could normalize his crazy life, get control over himself again, and have a “home” to go back to at the end of each stressful day. It wasn’t as if he and John could have set up such a “home”, even if John had been capable of being the stable and strong one Paul needed at that moment. They couldn’t be each other’s on-the-side secret lover forever, could they? And, to Paul's disgust and unease, John was salivating all over that new girlfriend of his. Paul was completely unwilling to go through yet another period of being outshone by another one of John's lionized idols.  Anyway, as long as John was in his life, Paul couldn’t really commit himself to a woman. He had tried with Jane, but that hadn’t worked. John had always had more influence over him than Jane did.  
_Oops!_ _Here I go again_.  
  
 Linda was standing in the darkened doorway of the sitting room, watching Paul’s face. She had a pretty good idea of what demons possessed him at such times, and had quietly observed that it was happening more and more lately. These dark moods had been really horrible during the whole Beatles break up thing, but after ‘ _Band on the Run_ ’ they had gone for awhile – the melancholy, the drinking whiskey late at night while staring into a fireplace. Now, just lately, the moods had started up again. He wasn’t having an affair; this she knew because he was never out of her sight. Paul did not like to be alone, especially in bed, so her solution was to always be there so he couldn’t find someone else. But what if he _wanted_ an affair? Or was secretly pining for a different life?  
  
 Linda was a strong woman, and nothing much frightened her. Or, perhaps it was more accurate to say that even though things might frighten her, she would not let that hold her back. She would always face her fears directly, and deal with them as they came.  
  
 This idea that her husband was unfaithful to her in his thoughts and dreams was not a new one to Linda, and while it scared her it didn’t cause her to run away. Whatever it was, she knew she could handle it, and would face it and do whatever needed to be done. But she worried about Paul. He had an overactive conscience, and arrayed against that in sharp contrast was the uncanny ability to rationalize what he wanted to do and fit it into the framework of what was conscionable to him. If she allowed him to stew too long in his own juices, he might eventually convince himself that cheating on his wife and children was not such a bad thing after all.  
  
 She moved towards him silkily, taking a place beside him. She began to touch him gently, seduce him out of his mood. Sex always worked with Paul. Thank god that was something concrete she could depend on about him. And he responded as she had hoped and expected. He was such a loving and sensual man, her husband, but he was also emotionally delicate, like fine rare china. And he had been pretty much abused and undermined by her predecessor in love – John Lennon – a bull in a china shop if ever there was one. Paul didn’t think she knew about John, but really – it was so totally obvious. Linda wondered if John was the reason Paul would have these dark moods. She knew she could never replace John in Paul’s mind. She didn’t have John’s talent or quicksilver cleverness, for one thing. But she suspected it went deeper than that. It was some weird chemistry thing that flowed between them effortlessly, which each in his way had unsuccessfully attempted to control. Since they were both so ridiculously competitive, the resultant anxiety attached to their struggle to be the one on top had resulted in distrust between them, even as they loved and needed each other intensely.  
  
 The only thing Linda could do for Paul in such moments was to comfort him by plugging in to his deep well of sensuality, and triggering its free reign. That, and the simultaneous offer of a reefer, of course. And Paul, by his reactions, showed he was only too ready, willing and able to go both of those places with her.

********

  
 In that exact moment, John was ringing the doorbell at Gerry and Jason’s flat, for the nine o’clock Wednesday night salon. The first salon of the New Year: 1979. John hoped it would be a better year, a happier year, than 1978.  
  
 The topic that night was: _Who was the love of your life_?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Things Become Clearer to John

The topic that night at the Wednesday evening salon was: Who was the love of your life?  
  
Everyone expected him to say “Yoko”, John believed. After all, that is what he had been endlessly saying since 1968 to anyone who would listen. Since July 21st, 1968, to be exact, that morning when he woke up in Paul’s bed on Cavendish Avenue to find Paul gone.  
  
The night before, after Paul told him he and Jane Asher were splitting, he then went on to say that since John had found Yoko, perhaps it was time for their own sexual relationship to end too. No amount of “c’mon, Paul, you’re acting like a jealous bird” type comments could persuade Paul to change his mind. The worst part was that Paul had trapped him in his extravagant statements of how wonderful Yoko was. The real reason for all that fulsome praise was John’s need to keep Paul in a state of constant uncertainty about their relationship. Put more starkly, John had always secretly enjoyed making Paul jealous. Like the whole Stu Sutcliffe episode, and like the time he played the tape of Yoko and him having sex in front of all of them, including the producer of ‘Let It Be.’ John had engaged Paul’s eyes with an evil kind of ‘up yours!’ expression throughout, whereas Paul had maintained that irritating blank mask in response. When the groaning and the suckling sounds finally petered out there was a dead silence. And then Paul said, “Well, that’s… interesting.” (This was not the response John had been looking for.)  
  
Even then, John knew it was a hurtful thing to do – very hurtful – but he had spent so many months obsessing over his lack of creative inspiration, while Paul was sending out one hit after the other. The Beatles had become more Paul than John, and John’s resentment over this had apparently been simmering under the surface for months. Yoko was the one who pointed it out to him. He wasn’t even aware of it until she explained it all to him. So after making all those extravagant claims about how perfect Yoko was, John found he could hardly back up and say to Paul, ‘it was all just me shooting off me mouth again, I don’t really mean it.”  
  
John had persuaded Paul to spend one more night with him, and Paul had acquiesced. John had been hoping the whole time that he could seduce Paul back to him, and Paul had felt the whole time as though he was prolonging their mutual agony by giving in. That morning John had awakened in a cold, empty bed. Paul was gone. He had tactfully snuck out so that John could make himself scarce with some semblance of dignity, rather than with painful and embarrassing begging and pleading. It was months before John realized that Paul really meant it, and couldn’t be seduced back, and only after he had spent the “Mad Day Out” trying out Yoko’s mind control techniques on Paul. All that had resulted in was a whole lot of weird, slashy photographs.  
  
     Paul - overnight, it seemed, in the studio (they were recording “The Beatles” at the time) - had changed from a charming but bossy diplomat to a snippy, heavy-handed martinet. Who was this asshole? None of the suits or engineers could believe it. Paul had been the normal Beatle, the one who acted as buffer and liaison between unpredictable, temperamental, crazy John, and surly, brooding, pouting George. Now Paul was worse than both of them combined! They all felt betrayed, and thus were far angrier with Paul than they had ever been at John or George. How dared he step out of his assigned role and give in to his baser feelings and conduct?  
  
John, alone, knew what was going on. He knew Paul was floundering having lost both Jane and John simultaneously. He was unmoored, and for a control freak like Paul that was unbearable. Not surprisingly, he was trying to regain control by behaving like a despot in the studio. And even though, almost immediately, Paul had brought a new woman into his life, he was still mourning the end of the John’nPaul connection. The new woman did have a calming effect on him, or so John had to grudgingly admit. She came complete with a ready-made family; a 4 year-old daughter. Paul, who loved children, already completely doted on her. As the months went by, Paul slowly, gradually, began to regain control over his behavior. He had always been a bossy perfectionist, but at least before he had done it in an entirely impersonal and semi-polite attempt to make the best possible music, rather than laying on his demands with a trowel. It wasn’t until early 1969, that Paul turned back into a mere exacting perfectionist, leaving the nasty moods at the studio door. That had been a relief to everyone.  
  
    Back then, though, John’s aching pain was not so obvious. Everyone was used to him and his wildly swinging ups and downs, so no one noticed that he was in terrible pain, not even Paul. Yoko did see, however, and he could tell by the knowing looks on her face that she had figured out what the hell was going on. In truth, it wouldn’t have been hard. How many times had she found him drugged out of his mind and whimpering Paul’s name over and over? One night he had completely trashed the house, and Yoko was afraid of him. She had called Paul to come to their rescue. Paul had comforted Yoko, and then had found and comforted John. But John’s attempts to reach a sexual solution to the problem were gently but insistently refused by Paul, who would only hold him, and listen to him cry. No doubt Yoko had been a witness to the whole embarrassing episode.  
  
    At least for the first year or so of his relationship with Yoko, she did not use this information against John. John thought this showed love and loyalty; in fact, Yoko had filed it away as material to manipulate John with later on. She wouldn’t have seen it that way. She would have seen it as ‘information to keep John in line’. And truthfully, to be honest and fair, John did need to be kept in line, or he would have spiraled out of control.  
  
    Several times over the years Yoko had used the information against him in their arguments and fights. “I’m sorry I don’t have a penis - I would be more attractive to you that way, wouldn’t I?” … “Oh, you’re not happy here? You can always go back to Cavendish – no wait! He doesn’t want you, does he?” Bitter memories, indeed, but John had dished out insults to her just as harshly, and often he said the more offensive things, so he figured he deserved it.  
  
    Meanwhile, back at the salon, most of the chitchat part of the evening was over by the time John pulled himself out of his reveries. Everyone was settling in their warm circle, drinking their whiskeys. John was unsurprised when Gerry and Jason each claimed the other was the love of his life, and John believed them. He was filled with an admiring envy. As the stories came, one after the other, John was lulled again into a sense of false security. So when it was his turn, his answer was honest.  
  
    “Remember the woman I told you about – the one who got away? Well, that was the love of my life.”  
  
    As John looked around at the faces surrounding him, he could see that they already knew this. He had basically told them as much in previous sessions, although John hadn’t fully realized he was doing so at the time.  
  
    “It must be hard, John, to be married to one person, but always carry a torch for someone else,” Jason said tenderly. There were sympathetic nods and mumbles from the group members. After all, a few others there were in the same boat – they had already bared their souls that evening.  
  
    To his horror, John felt his eyes fill with tears. No! He was not going to break down in front of this room full of strangers…but no. They weren’t strangers at all, were they? Nowadays they came the closest to being the friends John had been living without for years. A single tear escaped and ran down his face. He didn’t speak. He just nodded in general agreement and surreptitiously wiped the tear away.  
  
    “Where is she now?” one of the group members asked him. “What is going on with her? Do you keep track?”  
  
    John got a grip on himself, and banished the tears. “She lives in England. She’s happily married and has a big family. She’s had a very successful life since we parted.”  
  
    “Ouch”, Jason exclaimed. “Somehow that makes it much worse!” Everyone, including John, laughed. “So there’s no chance she’s over there pining for you?” he added hopefully.  
  
    “None at all,” John responded bleakly. “But, anyway, I’m married and have a son. It was just that we were too young to realize what we had. We didn’t know it was that special. We were arrogant and profligate with it. Or, I should say, I was. I can’t speak for her anymore. But I can’t help thinking that if we had been more mature, we wouldn’t have squandered it. We would have found a way to keep it alive.”  
  
   That night John lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. It had now been almost 2 years since he had started going to the Wednesday evening salons. What had he learned about himself? He had learned that what he really wanted, and in fact always really wanted, was what Gerry and Jason had. John felt a small wave of unease rush over him with that acknowledgement, but only a small one. Two years ago he would not even have been able to give birth to the thought. Now it caused him only a marginal, fleeting sense of disquiet. How could he really be ashamed of what he felt for Paul or what they had created together? Society’s values were all screwed up, and he was only one little person. He couldn’t change the shape of the world by himself.  
  
    A fugitive mischievous thought raced across his mind at that moment, which caused him to smile: no, he couldn’t change the shape of the world by himself. He needed Paul with him in order to do that again!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the Connections Begin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slash quota is about to increase a little, and after this chapter will continue to increase, so if this is not your cuppa, take heed.

As 1979 unfolded, John was disappointed to admit that his life in the Dakota was as stultifying as ever. He was mostly unable to write or compose or draw. There were those pornographic short stories he wrote, in the nonsense style, but they hardly counted because he could not see himself even showing them to another person, much less publishing them. Occasionally, when he wrote a relatively harmless one, he would read it out loud to Yoko and his personal assistant. But the best stories – the ones that had the most triple meanings – were meant only for the ears of the one person who could understand them.   
  
 Or maybe not. Perhaps all those memories were so far back in Paul’s past that he never thought about them? John thought he did – after all, it seemed as though Paul might have been reaching out to him the prior year with that odd song, ‘ _Name and Address_.’ If that had been an opening, John had stupidly slammed that door shut!   
  
 In October, John got the expected birthday card, but it was extremely impersonal. It was store-bought, and Linda had scribbled “ _Happy birthday John - Love, Paul, Linda & the Kids_” along the bottom. The asshole hadn’t even signed it! Of course, after the way John had treated him publicly, John should not have blamed him. But still…John had never been one to let common sense or rationality disrupt one of his internal rants.

*******

  
 It wasn’t as if Paul hadn’t thought about writing something more personal for John’s birthday card. It was just that he didn’t dare do so. He no longer felt he could presume to be a friend of John’s. John had made it very clear – loudly and publicly – that he at least did not consider Paul to be a friend. Given that sad reality, there was no point in reaching out to him anymore, was there? He’d only be slapped down again – no doubt in a particularly humiliating way – so best not to presume. In the end, Linda had bought the card and insisted upon sending it, telling Paul he was being immature. When Paul protested that John wouldn’t care if he got a card from him or not, Linda had said, “Just because _he_ behaves like a child, doesn’t mean _we_ have to.”  
  
 Paul nodded slightly, acquiescing in Linda’s gesture. But what a pale shade of pink that gesture was, he thought. So pale, it was almost white. Where had the passion gone? The throbbing, red, vibrating passion? Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer: it had died many years ago, along with their youth.  
  
 Even so, Paul had found that he could live side-by-side with his regrets of the past quite comfortably. He had everything a man needed: a beautiful, sexy, loving wife who was an incredible mother to his four adorable kids, and a highly successful music career. These things were both fulfilling and safe. Things could be a lot worse, so he would push away the sad thoughts when they threatened to overwhelm, and continue on the straight and narrow. This didn’t mean he was completely unaware of the empty space inside him where John used to be. It just meant he was practical and optimistic, and chose to grow toward the light instead of dwelling in the dark.

*******

  
 The Wednesday evening salons, at least the ones John attended, were no longer throwing up alarming memories and ghosts. They had started to become routine, and John was beginning to think he had outgrown them. At the meeting closest to his 39th birthday, he felt only mild interest in the evening ahead. By now the group of eight men were friends to him, although not close friends. John didn’t have any close friends. He kept all his friends at arm’s length. But they were at least friends to be trusted, because not one word of what he’d said in any of those sessions had ever leaked outside that room. That kind of loyalty was something to be grateful for, and John was grateful. So he continued to attend the salon evenings when he no longer felt the sessions were cathartic.   
  
 It was Jason’s night to come up with a question. He had a very mischievous expression on his face as they all leaned forward to hear their discussion topic. “The question is, have you ever had sex with a woman, and if so, did you enjoy it? If not, have you ever wanted to?”    
  
 There were groans all around the room over that one. There were some loud protestations, as well, but Jason ignored them as he turned to John and said, “If you want to participate, you can tell us if you’d ever had sex with a man, or if you ever wanted to have sex with one.”   
  
 John was a little in shock. This certainly woke him up from his complacency in one fell swoop. The subject was clearly controversial amongst the gay men. None of them appeared to relish the idea of discussing their earlier youthful attempts to fit into a straight world by having sex with women. Most of them had tried it at least once. Two of them had been married to women, and even had children in those marriages. One of them admitted he had enjoyed sex with women, but preferred to have sex with men. John found the topic to be thrilling. It was so close to his own secret experiences that his brain came alive again with the danger of it all.   
  
 Before he knew it, they were all looking at him expectantly. Gerry, always empathetic and tactful, said softly, “John you don’t have to answer this question. It is entirely too personal.”   
  
 John couldn’t back away from the precipice, even when provided with this graceful exit.  
  
 “I’ll deny this if it ever gets out,” John said warningly. “I’ll call you all liars.”   
  
 They all immediately assured him he was safe with them.   
  
 “I did have sex with a man,” John said very carefully. “Back in the ‘60s.” John swallowed hard, and looked around at his rapt audience. “Everyone was trying it,” he said defensively. “And we were all on drugs, and trying to outdo each other with outrageous exploits,” he continued. Even as he said these things he felt guilty. There was only one reason why he had sex with Paul: because he desperately wanted it, and even needed it. But he wasn’t about to tell _them_ that.   
  
 “Brian Epstein?” Jason asked.  
  
 John was confused for a moment, and then laughed easily. “No, not Brian. Oh, he tossed me off once in Spain. I felt sorry for him. But I was not attracted to Brian. He was too effeminate for me.” John thought about what he would say next, and decided to go for it:  
  
 “I preferred to be the submissive one.”   
  
 This clearly astonished his audience. Jason, especially, looked like he had just swallowed a horse.  
  
 “I already knew how it felt to fuck somebody," John quickly explained. "I fucked so many women in those days, in every possible position. But I was very curious about what it would be like to be the passive one, the one getting fucked.” John met their collective eyes defiantly. None of them made a sound.   
  
 “So tell us about this man,” Jason said.  
  
 John should have seen this coming, but he honestly hadn’t. He had expected to just announce that he had sex with a man – that a man had fucked him – and that would be it. But now he was being asked to personalize the act with a discussion of this man who had been allowed to dominate the mercurial John Lennon.   
  
 “What do you want to know?” John asked.   
  
 Jason responded. “What about him made you want to have sex with him? Did he approach you, or did you approach him?”  
  
 “It was my idea,” John said brusquely. “And he was so fucking beautiful I couldn’t help myself.”  
  
 “So how did it go? Did you enjoy it?” Jason prodded.  
  
 “I did enjoy it. A lot. We actually had a bit of an affair for a while,” John admitted grudgingly. “I liked the idea that other than me, he only wanted women. I liked that I had made him step out of character and want things that went against everything he believed in.”   
  
 John didn’t notice, but the men were studying his face now with a mixture of bemusement and – it had to be said – distaste. This was not a pretty side of John, in their opinions.   
  
 Jason still had more courage than the rest. “You were messing with his head?” he asked, disapproval licking around the edges of his tone.  
  
 John took that in, and nodded sadly. “I was not a nice person back then. I’m still not a very nice person. Since I’m so miserable, I want everyone else to be miserable too.” John looked up. “But I didn’t really have to twist his arm. He was a grown man, and he knew what he was doing.”  
  
 “It sounds like it was only physical; no love lost,” one of the group said. “Just like us with women.”   
  
 John’s first impulse was to deny that statement. But then he reminded himself that he did not want to tell the truth about this particular story. “Yeah, I guess it was similar.”  
  
 John paid for this blatant lie that night. He was haunted all night by the memories he had tried so hard to leave behind him. He remembered when Paul was on top of him in the bed, and then he would lower his forehead to lie against John’s, and they would stare endlessly into each other’s eyes, shielded at least in part by the flickering candlelight. On such nights, Paul would move ever so slowly. Every gesture, every touch was slow, gentle, and deeply sensual. John could feel his body thrumming and humming the way it always did when Paul played his strings – just like a bleeding guitar! The musician’s touch.   
  
 John leaned back in his bed, and his legs bent and separated as he fantasized. He could feel Paul’s tongue against him, licking his nipples, and tracing his sternum, and heading relentlessly (but slowly; agonizingly slowly) in the direction of his belly button, and then beyond. Lost in his fantasy, John allowed himself to writhe and groan. He allowed himself to feel Paul’s hands – his magical hands – working his waist, his hips, his ass…  
  
 John heard a noise. Shocked and embarrassed he jumped up in bed, pulling the sheets around his hugely enlarged penis, and saw little Sean standing by the side of his bed looking scared.  
  
 “Monsters again, Daddy,” he said solemnly.   
  
 John couldn’t let Sean into his bed. He had stripped naked to enjoy his fantasy, and his dick was hard, and so he turned Sean away from him, jumped up with the sheet around him, found his pj bottoms, and then led Sean to his own bed. John sat next to him on the bed, singing a gentle lullaby until Sean fell asleep again.    
  
 Afterwards, John went back to his bed and saw the snarled sheets and the now almost burned out candle, and he remembered the ecstasy he had felt when giving in to the fantasy of Paul making love to him again. He chortled at himself out loud.   
  
 “Monsters again for Daddy, too,” he mumbled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: Reach Out and Touch Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is J/P slash, although on the lite side for now. But starting at chapter 12 the story becomes overtly sexual. So if that’s not your thing, quit while you’re ahead…
> 
> So, in this chapter John finally acts in furtherance of his forbidden desires...

 In January 1980, John woke up one day to find out that Paul had been arrested by Japanese police, on the eve of a long-awaited Wings concert. Paul had allegedly packed a large amount of marijuana in his luggage. Of course, John knew the truth about that. Paul didn’t do his own packing. Linda – John was sure – had packed and had thrown that pot in there. She was famous for her lapses in judgment when it came to smuggling pot across various borders. In fact, on the same trip when the McCartneys had visited him in Malibu in 1974, Linda had been arrested at a traffic stop, and the cop had found pot in her car. She had been arraigned and had been sentenced to a misdemeanor. Everyone who knew the McCartneys at all knew that Linda had been the one to stash the pot. But Paul, of course, gallantly took the rap, and was whisked through a manhandling crowd and press pigfuck to jail. There was a certain justice to it, because he would have been only too happy to imbibe in the pot smoking had the smuggling been successful.  
  
 His stay turned out to be for only 10 days, not the 7 years he was potentially facing, but his tour was scrapped, and it was a substantial financial hit for him to take. While around Yoko John professed to be amused by Paul’s quandary, and even said it was Paul’s fault, but when he was alone he was very worried about Paul, and hoped that he was being treated well. He was also indignant about the arrest, telling his personal assistant that he wouldn’t put it past the officials to plant the stuff on Paul, even though he knew they hadn’t.   
  
 After Paul was safely in England, John toyed with the idea of writing a letter to Paul to see if he was okay. It might be a step in the right direction to find a way to have a cordial relationship with Paul. Maybe the regrets and memories wouldn’t haunt him so much if he could have a casual acquaintanceship with Paul. So he wrote a letter. And rewrote it several times. His final version sounded just right to John – casually interested, casually concerned, and casually unconcerned if Paul even responded:  
  
_Dear Paul:_  
  
  _I’m glad to hear you’re out of jail. I hope you were treated fairly. Honestly, though, anyone might have told you and Linda that Japan’s marijuana laws were tougher than those in the West, if you had only asked. Yoko and I have been there a few times, and have always been extremely careful about what we bring in. You and Linda really do need to become more careful about this; you’ve now been arrested at –what is it now? Four - or is it five - different airports? And if you always take the rap, eventually you won’t be able to get permits into the U.S. At least sometimes Linda should take the rap._  
  
  _Anyway, I’m glad that’s all over now. It must have been very worrisome for all of you._  
  
  _Yours,_  
  
  _John_  
  
 John didn’t see anything patronizing or insulting about this note. He felt it had just the right tone. So he sent it.

*******

   
 Linda saw the envelope first, and recognized John’s chaotic handwriting. She was seriously considering opening it first, to see if it was something cruel and hurtful. Not that she would keep it from Paul, but it would be nice to have a heads up. John could push Paul’s buttons like no one else could. In fact, John could just _pretend_ to push the button, and Paul would be on his way to the moon! Her general loyalty and honesty kept her from opening the envelope, but she decided to hang in the vicinity while Paul read it, so she would be there to help him though the aftermath.  
  
 Paul was utterly astonished to receive a letter from John. He had doubted whether John would ever contact him again. He met Linda’s eyes, and saw the concern there. He tossed off one of his patented grins, complete with wink, to show her he was okay. He waited for her to leave the room before opening it.  
  
 Paul was devastated by what John had written. While he had suspected that John would have been privately celebrating over his embarrassment and the Wings tour failure, he really hadn’t expected John to take time out of his personal life to kick him hard when he was down. The page went blurry as the tears threatened. He shook his head angrily. He was tired of having his emotions manipulated by John. He was tired of caring so much what John said or did about him. He was so over the roller coaster quality of Life With Lennon. He crunched the letter up and threw it into the burning fire.  
  
 Linda saw this from the doorway. She was disappointed in John, but not surprised. She also knew that Paul would never tell her what was in the letter. He had a persistent loyalty to John – even after everything John had put him through. She went in and put her arms around him, and he hugged her back. And she said,  
  
 “He wouldn’t write at all if you didn’t mean something to him still.”  
  
 Paul heard this, and kissed her on the top of her head. “Maybe that would be comforting, Lin, if what I meant to him wasn’t something so obviously negative.” In spite of himself Paul chuckled, and Linda released a relieved sigh. Maybe there was a chance that Paul was finally moving away from that poisonous relationship.

*******

  
 Although John had told himself he didn’t care if Paul responded to the letter, he found himself at first surprised, then disappointed, and then pissed off when – after several weeks - he did not hear from Paul at all. He had taken the time to write a nice little friendly letter, and Paul just ignored it! He was sufficiently peeved to go find his draft of the letter, and, reading through it, struggling around all the cross outs and edits, he slowly began to hear the letter the way it might have sounded to Paul. What seemed at the time to be objective brotherly advice suddenly appeared to be unforgivably rude and patronizing. _Holy crap_! How could he have become so tone deaf in his communications with Paul after all those years of sharing perfect pitch?   
  
 While John felt bad about this, he didn’t feel bad enough to do anything about it. His pride, and something else – fear of rejection, fear of losing his fantasies – held him back. Instead, it was his night to come up with a topic for question night at the Wednesday evening salon, and this incident had given him inspiration.   
  
 John took a deep breath and started right in: “The question tonight is, have you ever been estranged from once close friends, and found yourself incapable of bridging the differences? I mean, if you have had that experience, did you ever find a way to do it, or does it just end that way forever – all sad and hollow?”  
  
 The men seemed energized by the topic. John started the ball rolling, telling them that he had “some friends” from the “old days”, and that he found himself unable to “establish a cordial relationship with them.” Everyone there no doubt assumed he was talking about Paul, George and Ringo. John felt there was safety in numbers. John listened intently to the other men’s stories. Some of them had found ways to heal the old wounds and move on:  
  
 “You have to swallow your pride, and be prepared to take guff,” one of them said. “Just because you’re ready to reach across the divide doesn’t mean they will be. So, if you’re courageous enough to be the one to initiate the rapprochement, then you have to be prepared to hear them venting about how you hurt them and all. I had to listen to this, and I just bit my tongue and let him vent. When it was done I said, ‘I’m sorry’.”  
  
 “But what if it wasn’t your fault?” John asked.  
  
 “Well, of course I never thought it was my fault. But probably it was, at least in part. It’s a question of seeing it from the other person’s point of view. In his world view it was probably all my fault.”  
  
 “Are you supposed to just pretend that he hadn’t been a jackass?” (John had already forgotten to use the plural.)  
  
 “Yes, you are, if you want to have a relationship. The way I justified it to myself was that I could only apologize for my part of it; he was responsible for his part of it, and he would either apologize too, or he wouldn’t. Then it would be up to me to decide whether the other benefits of that friendship were valuable enough to me to overlook the past. That really is the only way to rescue an old friendship from bitterness, I think.”  
  
 Everyone generally agreed with this analysis, including John, who had a lot to think about as he headed home.  
  
 Lying in bed, he thought about what he had written, and how it must have felt to Paul to receive that letter. It must have been quite hurtful, even if Paul had moved beyond caring about John. No one likes to be treated so cavalierly. He knew he would have to do something to undo the damage he had done. Still, he wasn’t going to be precipitate. He needed to think this through some more. With that, he turned out the light.  
  
 He had a dream. At first it wasn’t a dream at all. He was on – of all things – a raft, and the gentle little waves in the river were slapping up against the side of the raft, and occasionally John could actually feel the little drops of water against his skin. He was prone on the raft, and seemingly unable or unwilling to move even a muscle. The raft was gently wafting down the stream. Slowly he became aware of a voice raised in song. It was coming from the near riverbank. He couldn’t see where it was coming from, but he could hear the general direction. He wanted desperately to go find the source of that voice. But he couldn’t move, and the raft kept moving, and soon the sound of the voice could no longer be heard. In his dream, he started to cry. And the cries became sobs. The sobs woke him up.  
  
 He slowly regained a sense of himself and his real whereabouts, and then felt that his face was wet, and his pillow and hair were soaked with tears. The ‘voice’ came back to him clear and strong. He knew whose voice it was, and he knew why he was crying.  
  
 Fat lot of good _that_ did him.

*******

  
 Paul had finished up his next release, “ _McCartney II”,_ and was preparing for the P.R. offensive. He had already told himself that he would not, under any circumstances, be drawn into talking about John. That chapter of his life was over, and the press would have to get over the fact that he wasn’t interested in prolonging the feud. A pile of mail was sitting on the reception table in the hallway. Paul idly filed through it, and stopped when he came to an envelope with familiar handwriting on it. He swallowed nervously, putting the other mail down. He held on to this envelope for several moments, before moving towards the sitting room. He told himself he wasn’t going to be hurt by it. He didn’t care what John wrote in the letter, he wasn’t going to be angry or hurt. With that, he opened the envelope, and with a heavily beating heart removed the page. There was one page and it appeared to be completely blank. He checked inside the envelope again, and there was nothing else there. He looked back at the sheet, completely nonplussed. As he stared his eye was drawn to the very bottom edge of the letter. In miniature letters in pencil were the words: “ _I’m sorry, asshole_ ”.   
  
 A rude bark of laughter escaped Paul’s throat. And his face melted into a fond, slightly exasperated expression. _You never know what that Lennon boy will do next_ , as his Dad used to say.   
  
 Paul gave it some thought over the next few days, and finally sent a response. It was a post card of a Paris street cafe, and in his exquisite handwriting on the back, Paul had written only: “ _Ca ne fait rien_.” There was no return address or salutation.

*******

  
 John’s receipt of this post card sent a thrill of victory through him. He had found a way through the bitterness to that special channel where only he and Paul could communicate. Of course, he had to look up “ _ca ne fait rien_ ”; he hadn’t remembered what it meant. When he read the definition, his face broke out in a heartfelt smile. He felt warmth in the low part of his belly. It was as if Paul had reached out across the Atlantic, and invisibly stroked his cheek gently.  
  
 Excited by this new way of communicating, John gave great thought to what he would send to Paul on his upcoming 38th birthday. It took him awhile looking at all sorts of joke post cards, but he finally found the right one. Giggling, he wrote his greeting on the back, and without writing out a return address or salutation, stuffed it in the mailbox.

*******

  
 Linda saw it first. She recognized John’s scrawl on the back, and seeing the post card and what he had written filled her with rage. She had half a mind to keep it from Paul. On the other hand, maybe he needed these constant reminders of why he needed to put John completely behind him. She handed it to Paul wordlessly.  
  
 He took it from her and suddenly laughed out loud, his face a picture of pure, unaffected delight.  
  
 “You think it’s _funny_?” Linda asked in an indignant tone.  
  
 Still laughing, Paul nodded and was finally able to say, “It’s _hilarious_!”  
  
 Later than evening, Linda found the post card on Paul’s bedside table, propped up so he could see it from bed. This sent an unfamiliar stab of jealousy through her. She picked it up and stared at it, trying to see the humor in it. On the front was a photograph from one of the old silent horror films. A ghastly looking victim was being stretched on the rack while villainous mad scientists hovered over him. She turned it over, and reread John’s scribbled greeting:  
  
 “Happy Birthday ‘ _Pud_. Wish you were _here!”_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein John finally takes steps towards starting over…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really hard chapter to write, because it is a transitional point in the story, and it is basically like connective tissue or a bridge in a song. I tried to make it entertaining, although a lot of information had to be imparted to make sense of the segue to the next part of the story. I also realized I had some ‘splainin’ to do regarding post cards and nicknames, and tried to find a way to edit this into the story without it sticking out like a sore thumb. This is a long one, because I wanted to get the whole transition done in one go. Hope you at least find it helpful and informative, if not too entertaining. The next chapter is waaaay more fun!

 Paul had a lot to think about now that his first album since the Japan bust, “ _McCartney II_ ”, had been released. He had chosen low profile public relations techniques for its release to match the low profile of the album. The rock critics, surprisingly, were actually kind and encouraging about this album, preferring its sparseness to Wings’s allegedly “over produced” sound.  
  
 Paul had to stop and wallow in a bitter moment over that. When he had released “ _McCartney_ ” in 1970, the critics had complained about its sparseness. So he released “ _Ram_ ”, and they complained about its “over production”. So he released “ _Wild Life_ ”, and they complained it was both “too spare” _and_ too “over produced!” (Depended on the reviewer.) So he released “ _Red Rose Speedway_ ”, and they said it was a “better effort”, whatever the fuck that meant, although it was still “over produced” or “too spare”. So he released “ _Band On the Run_ ” and he finally hit a homerun. But using the same basic ground rules as he did for “ _Band On the Run_ ”, he had released a series of Wings albums that the critics deemed too pop-based, and “over produced.” By “ _McCartney II_ ” he had come full circle, but apparently _now_ it was _okay_ for him to have a sparsely produced album. Man, they really made him work for their faint words of praise…  
  
 Complicating matters, he and Linda had had a terrible scare with their son, James. They had elected not to give him the standard inoculation against whooping cough, and then of course the baby had developed a terrible case of it. It was several frightening weeks of horrible coughing, and walking him around the house for endless sleepless nights. While he and Linda could be quite didactic about such things as vegetarianism and alternative health options, neither of them was stupid, and both felt very guilty about putting the baby at risk that way. This had taken a lot out of Paul just before his press offensive, when he would normally want to appear full of energy and optimism. It colored his interviews, and ironically, (wouldn’t you know it), the few interviewers he spoke to were pleasantly surprised by his subdued, more thoughtful responses to their questions and wrote flattering pieces. Paul had managed to get through all the interviews without mentioning John at all, despite the interviewers’ attempts to lure him in. A bloody miracle!  
  
 A month prior to releasing the album, Paul had released a single, “ _Coming Up_ ”, which had caught the mood of the 1980 audience and critics perfectly. It was a huge hit, commercially and critically, in not one but two different versions. One of the song’s biggest fans was John Lennon.

 _Want a love to last forever_  
 _One that will never fade away_  
 _I want to help you with your problem_  
 _Stick around, I say_  
  
_Coming up, coming up, yeah_  
 _Coming up like a flower_  
 _Coming up, I say_  
  
_You want a friend you can rely on -_  
 _One who will never fade away_  
 _And if you're searching for an answer_  
 _Stick around, I say…_  
  
_You want some peace and understanding_  
 _So everybody can be free_  
 _I know that we can get together_  
 _We can make it; stick with me_  
 _Coming up, coming up_  
 _Its coming up, it's coming up, I say_  
 _It’s coming up like a flower_  
 _It’s coming up_  
 _I feel it in my bones_  
  
_You want a better kind of future_  
 _One that everyone can share_  
 _You’re not alone, we all could use it_  
 _Stick around, we’re nearly there_  
  
_Its coming up, it's coming up everywhere_  
 _It’s coming up like a flower_  
 _It’s coming up for all to share_  
 _It’s coming up, yeah_  
 _It’s coming up, anyway_  
 _It’s coming up like a flower_  
 _Coming up!_

  
 John listened to the song repeatedly, and was encouraged by the fact that the song was both a hit and admired by critics. This meant that it was possible for the ‘60s songwriters to be successful in the ‘80s. He had thought that the world music caravan had moved on, leaving him behind. He also thought Paul’s song was a shout-out to him – Paul was urging him to write again. The interchange of silly postcards had led John to hope that their bond was still there. They had both gone after it with axes, but had been unable to kill it.  
  
 It wasn’t long before John was moved to sit cross-legged on his bed, with his door locked, playing chords on his guitar. Paul had inspired him to write again, but John didn’t want anyone to know this yet, because he wasn’t sure he would be able to contact his muse after so long a separation. The song born of this first attempt, John decided, had to be a response to Paul’s message. He would have to use his Elvis voice as a code message to Paul, as Paul had done for him with “ _Best Friend_ ” and “ _Name and Address_ ”. Deciding on this approach helped John pull chords out of the air; there were certain chords and musical phrasings that worked well with the Elvis voice, and that was a great freeway on to the song. It only took him a few hours – just like the old days when he wrote with Paul – and he was extremely excited about his “shout out” to Paul. Of course, it was only one song, and he had to write several more songs before he could even think about recording or releasing it.  
   
 That summer of 1980, John told Yoko he wanted to go on a sailing trip. He had started to feel a sense of independence running through his veins. He was breathing a tiny little strain of cautious rebellion. He needed a new experience away from Yoko and the dead world of the Dakota. This was in truth only a tiny step of independence, since Yoko had done all the planning, ensuring that John was surrounded by people who would report back to her. But at least it was a start. It was on this trip that John started composing more new songs in earnest. While he was inordinately excited about writing music again, the ever-present self-critic inside him was telling him that the stuff he was writing was mostly sub-standard, and the middle eights lacked variety and complexity. But he wasn’t going to talk himself out of composing any more. If he didn’t break through the sub-standard stuff, he would never make it back to the good stuff.  
  
 He found that he had no one close to him to share this momentous news with except Yoko. So he called her up from one of the ports they berthed in, and he told her excitedly about what he was doing. She suggested that he send him some tapes, so he did. He was just so happy about composing again, and so eager to share it with someone. He never expected Yoko to grab hold of it and start composing too. He never thought it would lead to an almost immediate contract with David Geffen, a booking into a studio – with a producer selected by Yoko (who had consulted Jann Wenner).  
  
 By the time he found these things out, it was all a _fait accomplis_ , and John became stressed, because he knew he didn’t have enough material. He explained this to the producer, who said there was plenty of time for him to develop new material. The idea was to jump in and start working, and the creative process would pull him through. John nodded, and headed for the studio.  
  
 Yoko sat down in the seat John had just vacated, and plopped a pile of tapes on the counter. She spoke softly to the producer. “I have six songs, and John has six songs, and we’re going to record these together. John doesn’t know.”  
  
  _Well, that’s odd_ , _she seems afraid of John_ , thought the producer. It wasn’t until a few years later that he learned Yoko wasn’t afraid of John; she was just maneuvering around John to bind him into a joint effort. She didn’t even tell John herself; she ordered the producer to do it.  
  
 So, a few days into the sessions John learned from the very nervous producer that his new album was going to be a joint release, with Yoko writing and singing half the songs. And Yoko had this idea that they could write “response” songs to each other. John winced. That sounded really corny. But, unsure of his ability to write several more songs, John said nothing. This had not been his plan. He had wanted to develop his songs more, and write some songs that he felt more strongly about. The worst part was that some of Yoko’s songs were objectively better than his. While he pretended that this didn’t bother him, it did bother him. A lot. Still, he didn’t feel strong enough to challenge Yoko. It all happened too fast. He knew at that moment that his “comeback” had been hijacked, but since everyone was so excited about hearing that he was coming back, John felt it necessary to put his unease behind him, and just be carried along by the tide. It had become a rip tide, so he just had to go with it or be pulled under.  
  
 That October, his birthday came along, and John waited for his card from Paul. He wondered what mischief his old partner had gotten up to this time. Instead, Ringo had shown up with his new girlfriend the night after his birthday without warning. John and Yoko hated surprise visitors, but since John and George were completely estranged, and he had only just this tentative bestirring of potential friendship with Paul, he felt he couldn’t afford to piss Ringo off, too.  
  
 What John didn’t know – and wouldn’t know for months – was that Paul had called him on the telephone during the joint John/Sean birthday party the day before to wish him a happy birthday. Yoko’s personal assistant had told Yoko, who intercepted the call and told Paul that “it was not a good time” to talk to John, so Paul had been unceremoniously turned away.

*******

  
 Paul wanted to believe that John had nothing to do with this brush off, but he kicked himself for being the eager one again: the one who was always willing to put his heart out there for John to take swats at, like a big fat piñata. Paul had obviously read too much into those silly little communiqués. He had best back off. If John wanted a friendship with him, he knew where he lived. He had his phone number. It was entirely up to him.

*******

  
 John was disappointed that Paul had not acknowledged his birthday. He began to worry that maybe Paul had been offended by the “torture” post card. Maybe he hadn’t got the joke? Not everyone would be able to see the humor in it. It required Paul to remember one of their frequent arguments. Paul was infamous for writing 2 or 3 line responses to pages-long letters. John remembered how he had sent Paul an 8-page long letter from Spain when he was filming “ _How I Won the War_ ”, beefing about the boredom of filming and how much he wanted to be home, but also painstakingly explaining everything he had seen and done during their separation. Some weeks later he had received a post card from Kenya – (a giraffe eating leaves off a tree, of all things) - where Paul had gone on safari with Jane Asher. The note on the back was pithy to the point of being cryptic. “ _I received your forwarded letter today – thanks_! _See you soon_!” John had been outraged by this pathetic response! He had given Paul a few pieces of his mind about it once they were reunited in London:  
  
 “You might just as well have written “ _wish you were here_!” he shouted.  
  
 Paul had the effrontery to look sincerely clueless, and then he logically pointed out that by the time John got the post card they’d be just days away from seeing each other, and then they could just _say_ what they had to share, so why bother writing anything?  
  
 This dense remark had caused John’s eyeballs to roll back in their sockets. _Aggravating man!_  
  
 For years after that, Paul’s habit of writing chirpy little greetings and post cards had become a kind of private joke between them, although John’s annoyance was real, and so was Paul’s obliviousness. This was why John had included those words on a post card that carried a campy torture scene. Paul would get the joke, even if no one else would.  
  
 Forcing himself back into the here and now, John knew there was no other choice. He’d have to pick Ringo’s brain. Consequently, his question was posed as if it were driven by idle curiosity:  
  
 “Seen Paul lately?” he asked casually. He didn’t see Yoko tensing up in her seat across the room from him.  
  
 Ringo had been expecting this question since he got there. He and others of their mutual friends joked about taking bets on how long it would take John or Paul to ask them about the other one. Ringo’s response did not betray his amusement.  
   
 “Yeah; saw him not long before I came over here.”  
  
 “How’re they all doing?” John asked politely, with seeming nonchalance.  
  
 “Very good. Can you believe that Heather is 18 years old now? Where on earth has the time gone?”  
  
 John smiled wanly, recalling guiltily that Julian was 17 years old now, and he really had to act soon if he was going to salvage any kind of relationship with his older son.   
  
 “So what’s Paul up to?” John asked, trying to make it seem casual and natural.  
  
 “He’s composing again, on his own. He told me he has disbanded Wings.”  
  
 This surprised John. “Why?”  
  
 Ringo thought before answering, and then, being careful how he worded his response he said, “Not sure. I think there was some negative fallout over the Japan arrest. Barbara and I think that Linda has put her foot down, and she doesn’t want to tour any more. She wants the younger kids to have a more normal life now that Mary is about to enter her teens. They’ve bought a house down in Sussex and are going to send their kids to a small comprehensive there, starting next school year.”   
  
 John heard this news with a kind of sadness. “That’s hard on Paul. He really loves to perform.” How unlucky that Paul kept winding up with lovers who didn’t want to tour anymore.   
  
 “How’s he taking it?” John asked, forgetting to look unconcerned.  
  
 “Who knows? It’s Paul we’re talking about, after all.”  
  
 John laughed knowingly right along with Ringo. Just as he began to think there was no more to be squeezed out of Ringo on the subject, Ringo suddenly volunteered:  
  
 “I saw that post card you sent to Paul for his birthday, you know.”  
  
 John said “What?” and shot a nervous look at Yoko, who was unaware of John’s little communications with Paul.  
  
 “Yeah – Paul pointed it out to me. He had it framed, and he hung it in the guest bathroom. He thought it was hilarious. He sends his regards.” Ringo didn’t add that he found it promising that John had addressed Paul as “ _pud_ ” on the postcard. He and George had often wondered about that nickname, but were afraid to ask. It was one of those secret John’n’Paul things, and if you asked them about it they would both rear up simultaneously and then indignantly tell you to mind your own f’ing business, or they’d both start spewing perfectly spurious and conflicting fraudulent explanations.  
  
 John digested Ringo’s information, and nodded passively. Stealing a look in Yoko’s direction, he could see she was on a high state of alert and had that ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this’ expression on her face. John sighed. Still, he was happy to hear that Paul wasn’t angry about the post card.  
   
 John didn’t make it to any Wednesday evening salons that fall. He was too wrapped up in the recording sessions, not to mention the hullabaloo associated with his comeback. But after the album was released, and he had received feedback through the grapevine that the serious music critics weren’t impressed with his work, John began to feel pangs of fear and insecurity. He had never been very brave when it came to facing failure or even criticism. He wasn’t used to it, for one thing, since he had always been the critics’ darling. It had been Paul’s lot in life to face the downright jeering from the “intellectual” critics. How he managed to keep going under such withering and relentless sarcasm at times amazed John. Where did he find the strength to do it?  
  
 His friend Jann Wenner was not going to allow John to be savaged that way. When his first pick for reviewer told him the review would not be good, Jann gave the job to a different reviewer who promised to go easy. But this didn’t mean that John didn’t realize that the reviews were canned. Back in the days before the Internet, it wasn’t easy for bad word of mouth to get out unless the rock critics wrote about it. And there was a polite fortress of silence surrounding the disappointing Lennon comeback. While John appreciated this on one level, on another he found it humiliating to be at the mercy of a bunch of critics. If he didn’t suck up to them he’d end up being pilloried like Paul had been. John knew he was not as strong as Paul. He would never be able to compose again if this was what he had to face when the music was released.   
  
 So, like a press whore, throughout November, John subjected himself to no fewer than three “in depth” “exclusive” interviews – with _Rolling Stone, Playboy_ magazine, and _Time Magazine_. John found himself talking endlessly, verbal diarrhea, contradicting himself from one interview to the next, and sometimes even within the purview of a single interview. He was all over the place; a false bravado urging him on to bigger and better exaggerations and – let’s face it – downright lies. Like where he and Yoko went on and on about their ‘perfect’ marriage, and how much they loved each other, and how they knew they would be growing old together in perfect harmony. Lies. Yoko knew they were lies, too, but she wanted to live forever in this dead marriage. She had come to terms with what it was, and what it would never be, and had decided it was enough for her. John was the one who was suffocating, but he hadn’t the will to walk out, not knowing where he would go next.  
   
 It was after one of these interview nights, after the reporter had finally packed up and left, and Yoko had gone off to her private bedroom to sleep, that John noted it was still relatively early – only about 10 p.m. He picked up the phone and called Gerry and Jason’s number, and Gerry answered.  
  
 “You guys still awake?” He asked.  
  
 “Yes, of course.” Gerry responded.  
  
 “Do you mind if I drop by?”  
  
 “Not at all – it would be a pleasure to see you; it’s been a while.”  
  
 “Sorry about that; I’ve been busy.”  
  
 “We totally understand.”  
  
 So John hung up and went up to the familiar apartment, and settled in the gold and green sitting room, and feeling a chill, wrapped up in one of their many lap blankets. Jerry handed him a hot cup of cocoa, of all amazing, surprising, and lovely things. John rewarded Jason with a warm and childlike smile. Jason blushed.  
  
 “So what’s up?” Jason asked him.  
  
 “Yoko’s planned a trip back to England for the holidays. I’m going to show Sean where I grew up – you know, the sights in Liverpool - and we’ll visit Aunt Mimi. I hope to see Julian, too, and bring him back for Christmas. We’re coming back to New York just before Christmas. It’s really a business trip. We’re going to do a bunch of interviews and television talk shows while we’re there.”  
  
 Gerry and Jason nodded in a non-committal way.  
  
 “I’m wary of going back,” John finally admitted.  
  
 “Why’s that?” Jason asked.  
  
 “Ghosts.” John said succinctly.  
  
 “Your ‘one true love’,” Jason said quietly.  
  
 John laughed and said, “It’s one thing to be here in another country and not communicate; it’s another thing to be in the same damn city, and not even see each other.”  
  
 “Surely she won’t be expecting to see you after all this time?” Gerry asked reasonably. “She has her own family, and it will be the holidays.”  
  
 John couldn’t explain why his being in London again was awkward. He couldn’t explain how it would be: the paparazzi following him around, speculating over whether he would meet up with Paul. The reporters would all ask him about it. He would be expected to drop in on George Martin, and it would seem rude in the extreme to the outside world if he neglected to reach out to Paul. And would Paul be expecting him to reach out? None of this was capable of explanation, because Gerry and Jason believed his “one true love” was some random woman, unconnected to the Beatles. He longed to have someone objective to talk to about this problem. When he invited himself over, he had intended to tell them the truth, and ask for their advice. But now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to tell them the truth.  
  
 “What’s bothering you, John?” Gerry had finally asked him this simple, gentle question.  
  
 “I wasn’t ready for all this craziness. I had only just begun to write again. I’m not proud of most of my work, and now they all expect me to go out there and flog it and perform it when they all know its mostly bull crap!” John declared fiercely.  
  
 “How did this happen?” Jason asked, shocked.  
  
 “Yoko just hijacked the whole thing; it was all her doing. I’m so pissed at her I can hardly see straight. And here I am poncing around pretending we have this wonderful relationship. By now you both know that we barely can tolerate each other. It’s another kind of hypocrisy – like when I was pretending to be Beatle John. Only now I’m pretending to be half of John  & Yoko. I never wanted to feel like this again – phony.”  
  
 “What are you going to do about it?” Gerry asked.  
  
 “Probably nothing, like I always do. Just grin and bear it.” He looked up at these two friends of his, and gave them a cock-eyed smile. “I’m basically a coward at heart, you know.”  
  
 “Don’t put yourself down, John,” Jason snapped. “You’re an incredible human being, with a lot to offer. You shouldn’t settle for anything less than what has a chance of making you happy in life.”  
  
 John’s head snapped up and he studied Jason’s impassioned face.  
  
 “You make it sound easy, like I could just reach out and grab what I wanted.”   
  
 “Well, do you even know what you want?” Jason asked in response.  
  
 Surprisingly, John did know. He knew it with a dead certainty he hadn’t thought he was capable of.  
  
 “Yes,” he whispered. There was a desperate kind of hope in his eyes as he made this sound. Gerry and Jason were both moved. Jason sighed deeply before giving John some difficult advice.  
  
 “Well, if you know what you want, then yes – you only need to reach out and make a grab for it.”  
  
 “But what if I fail?”  
  
 “You’re no worse off than you are now. The difference will be that you will have at least _tried_ to get what you wanted.”  
  
 Later, John sat in front of the mirror at the vanity and stared at his face. He searched it intently for signs that he had the strength there to take a chance at love. He wished he could be as complacent as Jason evidently was about rejection. He didn’t think he could survive a rejection, but he was equally uncertain that he could survive his present circumstances.

********

  
 Paul had his hands on John’s new album, “ _Double Fantasy_ ”. He had listened to it thoughtfully a number of times, and found himself moved by John’s lullaby to Sean. He had always hoped that someday John would understand the mysterious bond between parent and child, seeing as how he had never had that bond as a child himself. The song “ _Wo/Man_ ” – that was weird. Why was there a separation there? There was also the usual irritating “Yoko” song. Why could John get away with such literal sentimentality, but he, Paul, couldn’t even get away with more subtle sentimentality (“My Love”)? More of that double standard he was always bumping up against.  
  
 But the song he kept coming back to, and wondering about, was “( _Just Like) Starting Over_.” He had instantly recognized it as a song for him, as if John had responded to the message he sent him in “ _Coming Up_.” But a moment later he doubted that interpretation.

 _Our life - together - is so precious - together,_  
 _We have grown - we have grown,_  
 _Although our love is still special,_  
 _Let's take a chance and fly away, somewhere, alone._  
  
_It's been so long since we took the time,_  
 _No one's to blame,_  
 _I know time flies so quickly._  
 _But when I see you, darling,_  
 _It's like we both are falling in love again,_  
 _It'll be just like starting over - starting over!_  
  
_Everyday we used to make it love,_  
 _Why can't we be making love, nice and easy?_  
 _It's time to spread our wings and fly,_  
 _Don't let another day go by - my love -_  
 _It'll be just like starting over - starting over._  
  
_Why don't we take off alone,_  
 _Take a trip far, far away,_  
 _We'll be together on our own again,_  
 _Like we used to in the early days,_  
 _Well, well, well darling,_  
  
_It's been so long since we took the time,_  
 _No one's to blame,_  
 _I know time flies so quickly,_  
 _But when I see you darling,_  
 _It's like we both are falling in love again,_  
 _It'll be just like starting over - starting over._

   
 While there were many clues – the Elvis voice, the “early days” line, “spread our _wings_ and fly, don’t let _another day_ go by, _my love_ …” there were also lines that seemed to refer more to Yoko. Was John fucking with him? Was he being sincere? Was it a coincidence? Paul’s gut told him that most likely it was just a tease. It was just another set of Lennon lyrics with double or triple meanings, forcing you first to take it seriously, only to have the rug pulled out from under you after. Paul wanted to believe it was a message to him, but he had been the subject of John’s bait and switch techniques so many times, he couldn’t get comfortable with that belief.   
  
  _(Just Like) That Torture Postcard_ , Paul thought, amused with his own clever wordplay. It _was_ funny that John was sending birthday wishes that suggested that Paul should be stretched out on a rack. But John had also used that ‘ _pud_ ’ nickname, which Paul hadn’t heard in awhile. John had only ever called him that when he was feeling affectionate. But it had more than one meaning. The “harmless” meaning, which was given to anyone who might ask, was that it was shorthand for calling him a fellow Liver _pud_ lian. For this reason, Paul often called John ‘ _pud_ ’ too. However, the slightly embarrassing version (for Paul) was a diminutive of the nickname John gave Paul when he was 15: “ _Puddin_ ”. Although the worst of Paul’s chubbiness had melted away before he met John, John knew how sensitive Paul was about his weight, so he would tease him in front of their friends by calling him “ _Puddin_ ”. It wasn’t as bad as when John would call him “ _Bambi”_ in front of their friends, but it remained an irritant for a few years until Paul became desensitized to it. By then it had been shortened to “ _pud_ ” and had lost its associations in the mist of time.  
  
 (Anyway, that’s what _Paul_ thought it meant. Little did he know that John’s love of double and triple meanings had caused him to settle on “ _Puddin_ ’” because Paul was so sweet and utterly irresistible, like a warm _mont blanc_ quivering on a banquet table _._ )  
  
 Smiling ruefully to himself about how far his mind had wandered, Paul put the song on again, and sat back to listen.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we come to December 1980. The only way to avoid the inevitable is to completely avoid it. :)

 December 12, 1980. London Town in the holidays. John gazed out the window of his hotel room in wonderment. He was really back in England. He had been treated like returning royalty by the British press. He was the man in demand right now. He should have felt good about it, but he had an underlying sense of dread, most likely because he knew some of his songs were crap. He was afraid if he didn’t keep dazzling them with his bullshit, they would start to notice how weak the material was.   
  
 Turning away from the window, John retraced his steps to the bed, and climbed in, relaxing his sore joints. John was still suffering from the aftermath of a bad flu he had contracted a week earlier, before the London trip. John had been forced to take to his bed for a few days, disappointing the various reporters hanging around the Dakota who wanted to finish their interviews with him. It was basically a good thing he got sick, though, because the police had told Yoko that some weirdo had been arrested out in front of the Dakota building for loitering and acting suspiciously. It turned out the guy was armed with a gun, and was nuttier than a fruitcake. Apparently the guy was obsessed, and was stalking John. Thinking about it sent a slight chill down his spine, but John shook himself back to the present. The guy was probably harmless. Shrugging, he went back to fingering his most troubling worry bead:  
  
 Yoko was planning a concert tour. She hadn’t asked John if he wanted to do a tour. When reporters asked him about it, he said he was excited about the idea. But in the dark of the night he was filled with anxiety. He had never carried a show longer than 30 minutes by himself. He always had Paul with him. John knew in his bones that he did not have enough material, nor did he have the discipline or experience to put together the right material for a 2 ½ hour show, which was the norm now as opposed to the 30 minute shows of the past. In Hamburg they had played constantly all night long, but they were high on prellies and taking the songs in turns, and repeating the material over and over as the audience changed over.     He also knew without having to be told that no audience would sit still for 2 ½ hours of Yoko’s caterwauling. What she was able to produce in a recording studio (often very interesting) was a lot different than what she could produce live on a stage (also interesting, but not in such a good way). No, he, John, would be the main draw, and he would have to carry the show. He didn’t have faith that he could do so. Still, he hadn’t yet signed his name to anything, so he could still think of this as a vague possibility in the future, and not a dead weight hanging over his head by a thread.   
  
 A few days after John’s arrival in London, George Martin and his wife Ruth insisted on throwing a party for him and Yoko in their London home, and George said he was inviting only the close Beatle friends – Paul, George, Ringo, Neil Aspinall, and their wives. It would be a quiet, graceful way for John to get the inevitable Beatles reunion over with to satisfy the ravenous press and fans, while still having it be a contained event.   
  
 John was excited about going, but only because he couldn’t wait to see Paul. He hadn’t seen Paul since the two of them had quarreled at the Dakota in late 1976 – four years. He was trying to hide his excitement from Yoko, and pretending to find the whole party idea a drag – something he _had_ to do to get it over with - like taking medicine when he was sick. He didn’t know if Yoko believed him, and he honestly didn’t care. Yoko had been watching John closely since they arrived. She had been eavesdropping on his phone conversations, and ensuring that every minute of his time was accounted for. She didn’t trust him not to find some excuse to go see Paul. Why this bothered her so much she wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t the idea of them having sex that she worried about, so much as the influence factor. Paul had a way of bolstering John’s self-confidence, and influencing his thinking and decisions. She didn’t want John getting any ideas that he was in charge of his own career, and she didn’t want John meddling in her plans. She felt she knew what was best for both of them. And perhaps she actually did.  
  
 The Martins’ home was beautifully decorated for the holidays, and once John and Yoko had managed to slip through the clamoring reporters and photographers outside, they felt immediately drawn into the warm ambience. There was a huge fire roaring in the fireplace. There was a tall live Christmas tree with hundreds of white lights and little red ribbons hovering in the front window of the sitting room. George and Olivia Harrison were already there. Neither John nor Yoko had met Olivia yet, and they hadn’t seen George in about six years. There was a slight awkward silence when the introductions were being made, but Olivia proved to be made of sweetly strong stuff, and John and Yoko soon warmed to her. George was acting as if he himself was the main attraction, and John found himself quietly amused by this, rather than provoked. Soon Ringo arrived with his new girlfriend Barbara and they were all laughing and starting to enjoy themselves as they each imbibed their second drinks.   
  
 John was nervously watching the hallway, waiting for Paul’s arrival. It was getting fairly late, and he began to think that Paul was going to stiff him by not showing up. But finally Paul was there at the aperture, talking to George and Ruth, and looking splendiferous of course. He didn’t look a day older than the last time he saw him – in fact, he looked much younger now that he had gotten rid of the stupid mullet and the mustache. He was wearing a silver sharks tooth skim fabric jacket that, under the Christmas lights, radiated silver and black intermittently. His shirt was a bright, crisp white, and his black slacks were perfectly tailored, as usual. Then he was there, approaching him, and his huge dreamy hazel eyes looked like they were almost silver in contrast with the white shirt and sharks tooth jacket. His hair was still thick and black and wavy. Just as he remembered: Paul was as beautiful as ever. John stood up to accept Paul’s hug. Then Paul leaned over and hugged Yoko, giving her a chaste kiss on her cheek. She smiled flirtatiously at Paul, which pissed John off.   
  
 It was then that John noticed Paul was alone. There was no Linda.   
  
 Thankfully, Barbara noticed too. “Where’s Linda?”  
  
 Paul made a face and said, “Two of the kids are sick with flu. She wanted to stay home with them.” This was almost true; both kids were on the mend, and would have been fine with a babysitter.  
  
 Paul was indulging in brief, surreptitious glances in John’s direction, amazed to be seeing him in person after so much time. What Paul saw worried him. John looked hollowed out. He was painfully thin; his wrists were positively dainty, his cheeks were sunken, and there were bulges under his eyes that were no longer hidden behind glasses, since John appeared to have contact lenses on. John looked as though he had aged 10 years since Paul had last seen him. John also looked ill at ease, artificially cheerful, but underneath he seemed…sad and anxious. Not unlike the way Paul felt.  
  
 Paul sat in a lone chair facing the crescent shaped sofa the others were sitting on, feeling a little isolated from his former band-mates. Would it ever be so? There wasn’t any room on the sofa, so he sat apart from them. But it felt as though this was just an outward symbol of his actual attenuated connection to these three men who had been his best mates for years. They would never fully forgive him for being the one to finally pull the plug. Even though they had pushed him further than a man should be pushed; even though he had been right about Allen Klein; even though he had won the lawsuits, and then spectacularly survived his Beatles career. In fact, it was precisely _because_ he had been right, and he had won, and he had succeeded on his own that they couldn’t forgive him. If he had been living in a dump, divorced by his wife, deserted by his family, and consumed by a drug addiction, they would probably have forgiven him long ago.  
  
 He tried to keep these bitter thoughts from showing on his face. Linda had refused to come to the party, seeing it as a kind of set up, and had urged him not to go either. “George and John will treat you badly, they’ll patronize you and make snide comments. I’ll get angry and make a fool of myself. Your feelings will be hurt, and it will take you weeks to get over it. Then John or George or both of them will tell the press about how they put you down, and it will become fodder for the rock press, and you will never live it down.”   
  
 “You’re probably right, luv,” he had said with a resigned sigh. “But if I don’t go, then it will be ‘Paul insults his former mates; thinks he’s too good for them’, and I’ll be living _that_ down for years. This is just another one of those no-win situations I’m always finding myself in.” Paul had promised her he would just show up late, and leave early, feigning concern about his (not really) sick children. In between, he would keep a polite smile plastered on his face while not saying anything even remotely interesting or controversial.   
  
 John was watching Paul from out of the side of his left eye. He knew immediately that Paul was completely closed off from the rest of them. He was definitely in a fully defensive stance. The smile seemed a bit frozen, and it wasn’t reaching his eyes. His hands were tightly clasped in his lap, and when he spoke his face didn’t light up, and his hands didn’t do their crazy dance in the air in accompaniment. Paul was not enjoying himself; he was in some kind of purgatory, and could not allow himself to relax. John felt a pang of sympathy for him. None of this was easy for Paul, he knew. He had been dubbed the Bad Guy, and he would feel as though he wasn’t truly welcome in this company.  
  
 Thankfully, Neil Aspinall and his wife showed up, and they were obviously close to Paul. Paul was soon involved in what looked like a genuinely warm conversation with Neil. John felt wistful. He wished he could get up, cross the room, and engage Paul in a genuinely warm conversation too. He didn’t know how to even begin. He took a quick glance at Paul and - at the exact same moment – Paul’s eyes met his. They exchanged a forcibly blank look for a second. Without another thought, John stuck his hand out on his leg, and walked his fingers up his thigh, while looking away in the direction of the group conversation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paul, who had looked away, walking his fingers up his arm and to his shoulder.   
  
 John hugged this secret to himself. He didn’t think anyone had seen it. But if they had, it would have meant nothing to them. They didn’t know any of the old silly secret codes he and Paul had dreamed up to amuse each other with during boring meetings and press conferences. John waited to see what would happen next. Would he move first, or would Paul? It was only a few moments, but John saw Paul excusing himself from his conversation with Neil. Without looking in John’s direction, he had gotten up and walked out of the sitting room into the hall. John waited a few moments. Yoko had been lost in conversation with Olivia and Barbara, and he didn’t think she had seen Paul leave the room. John leaned over and whispered to Yoko that he had to use the bathroom. She nodded, and he got up and left the room. As he entered the hallway, he noticed that Paul was pinned against the wall being talked to by a woman houseguest of the Martins. She was coming on pretty strong, and he could tell Paul was uncomfortable with it. The two men did not acknowledge each other at all. John waited a moment until no one was watching, and he bolted up the stairs to the first floor landing, and stepped back into the shadows of the upstairs hallway.   
  
 Paul, meanwhile, had seen John’s maneuver, and he knew he had to lose this clinging woman. He excused himself and headed for the kitchen. The woman looked like she wanted to follow him. She eventually did head in the direction of the kitchen. But by then Paul had dashed through the kitchen, the dining room, back into the hallway, and up the stairs. As he got to the top of the stairs someone – John - grabbed him by his arm and dragged him into a dark bedroom. John locked the door behind them, and then pulled Paul into the en suite bathroom, locking that door, too. No words had been spoken, and Paul was a little confused by the double and triple secrecy.   
  
 “What’s up?” Paul asked quietly, when they were finally standing opposite each other in the darkened bathroom.   
  
 “This is insane. We can’t have a normal conversation in this fishbowl,” John whispered. “Where can we meet to talk privately? I think we need to talk.”  
  
 Paul studied John’s face suspiciously. He wondered what John was up to. Dared he trust him? Paul knew he was a sucker for John. He was like poor Charlie Brown with Lucy and the football. He fell for it every time. He could hear Linda’s voice warning him against falling for this ploy, whatever it was.  
  
 John saw the distrust in Paul’s face and it hurt him, although he understood why it was there. He, too, had felt that way when Paul had shown up on _his_ territory waving an olive branch.   
  
 Paul finally spoke. “We can meet at my house if you like,” he offered.  
  
 “I think we should be totally alone. No wives; no children.”   
  
 Paul thought some more. “I guess we could rent a hotel room where we could meet privately, if it is that important to you.” Paul suggested.  
  
 John warmed to the idea. “I’m staying at the Ritz, and that is too public a place, so we can’t go there. What about a discreet hotel? Do you know one?”  
  
 Paul thought some more. “Yes, there is a small hotel in Chelsea called the Beaufort Arms. It is very out of the way. It is where I have business meetings when I don’t want the press to know about it.”   
  
 “Shall we meet there tomorrow night? After I’ve put Sean down, and Yoko has gone to bed? About 10 p.m.?”   
  
 Paul felt a little uneasy about this, but couldn’t figure out why. What would he tell Linda? She would never approve of such a meeting. She would want to go with him in order to protect him from John’s hurtful remarks. He didn’t lie to Linda, because lying only led to distrust, which was a death knell to a good relationship. He couldn’t call it a business meeting; Paul never had business meetings at 10 o’clock in the fucking night. John certainly wasn’t making this easy for him.   
  
 “Can you give me a clue about why you want to meet, John? I’m completely in the dark here,” Paul finally said. He was whispering because John was whispering, although he wasn’t sure why whispering was necessary. “And, why in secret? Why can’t we do it at a normal time?”  
  
 John was only slightly irritated by Paul’s obdurateness. He was too excited to be in Paul’s presence; staring into the kaleidoscope eyes (not to mention thighs); breathing in the familiar scent. “Yoko won’t approve,” John whispered. “I have to do this without her knowing.”   
  
 Paul really didn’t need this explained to him. He understood Yoko’s point of view, even if at the same time he was the primary victim of it.   
  
 “Well, Linda won’t like it either,” Paul whispered back. “If we meet that late at night I can’t convince her it is just a business meeting.”   
  
 The two of them stared at each other. It was a frustrating impasse, but John wasn’t willing to give up yet. In the dead silence, in a room lit only by a nite-light, John reached his hand up and cupped Paul’s cheek. His thumb gently caressed the tender spot just below Paul’s right cheekbone. Paul’s eyes got large in alarm.   
  
 “Oh!” Paul murmured. He didn’t know what else to say. What the fuck was going on here?   
  
 John smiled gently into his eyes, and leaned in and kissed Paul gently on his lips. Paul’s eyes involuntarily closed and then slowly reopened to find John staring hungrily into his eyes.   
  
 “This is not the time or the place for what I want to say to you,” John whispered in Paul’s ear. “So, maybe just this once you can make an excuse to your wife, and you can meet me tomorrow at the Beaufort Arms at 10 p.m.” As he whispered, he had moved his lips down the side of Paul’s neck, and into the forbidden zone – the hollow below Paul’s adam’s apple. Paul appeared to be frozen. He wasn’t actively responding to John’s seductive kisses, but as John pulled back a little, he saw on that gorgeous face a telltale lazy, sensual expression at war with distrust and suspicion.  
  
 Paul gradually regained his poise. “They’re going to miss us if we don’t get back downstairs,” he said. “You go first, and then after a few minutes, I’ll go down.”  
  
 John looked anxiously at Paul. Paul smiled and then, whispering in John’s ear, said with an exaggeratingly patient voice, “The concierge at the Beaufort will have your key, John.”   
  
 John smiled in relief, and the next thing he knew he was pushed out of the bathroom. The door closed behind him, so John then left the bedroom, snuck quietly down the stairs, and wandered casually in to the sitting room. Yoko looked up with suspicion in her eyes. John was ready for that. He made noises about a particularly difficult bowel movement. That sort of talk always made Yoko cut off the conversation without further ado!   
  
 A few minutes later Paul was there, quietly saying his goodbyes, and handing out discreet hugs. Then he was gone. John felt as though the lights in the room dimmed, the temperature had dropped, and the company became dull as soon as the door closed behind Paul. He could hear the paparazzi shouting at Paul as he ran the gauntlet to his car.   
  
 So tomorrow night he would reach out and grab what he wanted. He knew now that he had the courage to do it. The only question was what would Paul’s answer be? John was finally within 24 hours of finding out.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Love Finally in Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this doesn’t disappoint. I’m desensitized to the vignette after reading, rereading, editing and re-editing, to the point where all I can see are adjectives and nouns. Consequently, I can no longer tell if it is as hot as I meant it to be. Here’s hoping!

 In the event, Paul didn’t lie to Linda. He didn’t exactly tell her the whole truth, either. He told her very calmly that John had reached out to him to talk, and because Yoko wasn’t in favor of the idea, they were going to meet privately at a hotel late that night. Linda was quick to pull out the usual objections, but Paul was not to be dissuaded. He told Linda truthfully that he thought John was sincere, and wasn’t trying to set him up for some personal or public relations disaster. He told her they’d probably talk for a few hours, share a few drinks, and he’d be home before she knew it. He didn’t tell her that John had made sexual overtures to him in the tight confines of a darkened bathroom. He also didn’t tell her that this had sent his hormones racing around his body like a crazed crowd during a fire alarm. Paul hadn’t really come to grips with those truths yet.  
  
 Linda couldn’t say the real reason she was against the meeting with John. While she had always sincerely expressed her desire that the two partners work together again, she inwardly nursed real fears about that ever happening. She knew that Paul was still in love with John. She knew that he always would love John in a way that he would never love another human being. It didn’t matter that John treated Paul like shit; it didn’t matter that he could be sweet and funny the one moment, and a fickle, maneuvering bastard the next. Paul would always ascribe the best motives to John, and it was sad to watch sometimes. Linda didn’t think John was really capable of loving someone else. There had been too much damage done to him as a child. He had several lovely qualities, but loyalty to and true empathy for others were not among them. Still, she could hardly tell Paul he couldn’t go. If she did, he wouldn’t go. She knew he wouldn’t. But she believed that Paul would always quietly hold it against her if she stood in his way, so she said nothing except, “Have a good time, and don’t drink too much. Take a cab, so you won’t have to drive back.”  
  
 Paul had planned to get there first, and he did. He wanted this hotel room to be his territory. He needed that sense of being in control of the situation, unlike how he’d felt pushed up against the door in that bathroom. He was telling himself that he wouldn’t allow any further sexual moves on John’s part. Even as he told himself that, another taunting voice was saying, ‘ _as if you could resist …_ ’  
  
 John had pretended to go to bed early, claiming jet lag as the culprit, in order to lure Yoko into a false sense of security. They had separate bedrooms in the same suite, and Yoko agreed she was tired too and went straight to bed. Consequently, John was able to sneak out at 9:30, and he took a cab to the Beaufort Arms. The concierge recognized him immediately, and without making any kind of a show simply handed him a key to Room 506 and pointed in the direction of the elevator. John’s heart was beating like a jungle drum: his mind was alive with a medley of emotions, chief among them pure, unadulterated anticipation.  
  
 He let himself in, and saw that Paul was already there. He was in an easy chair perusing a newspaper. Paul stood up and offered himself up for a hug. Evidently he was expecting a quickie, but John held on long, and held him tight, resting his chin on Paul’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of Paul deeply. When he finally pulled out of the hug, John maintained a grip on Paul’s upper arms and stared deeply into Paul’s eyes.  
  
 Paul had been taken aback by John’s assertiveness. He hadn’t expected that. For some reason he had thought John would be a little shy, perhaps embarrassed about the previous night’s stolen kisses. Instead, John was unrepentant, not at all embarrassed, and apparently raring to go. Paul’s emotions were a mass of confusion – it was like they were bumping into each other in panic they were so mixed up. He had barely experienced shock before he was feeling fear followed instantly by arousal, _no, can’t have that_ … _panic! Panic_! His brain was whirling. He did what he always did when things were slipping away from him. He took control.  
  
 Paul gently extricated himself from John’s prolonged embrace, and gestured to the sofa opposite his chair. John was disappointed he didn’t get an immediate rise out of Paul, but he wasn’t discouraged. He would play it Paul’s way, up to a point. So he sat down on the sofa, and placed one leg’s insouciant ankle over the other leg’s cocky knee. He leaned back in his seat, exposing his clothed genitals, lit a cigarette, and then sat there, staring lewdly at Paul, periodically blowing his cigarette smoke in Paul’s general direction. There was a scary little ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he stared and smoked.  
  
 Paul remembered this tactic. This was one of John’s strategies meant to intimidate someone. It didn’t work on Paul. He leaned back in his chair, calmly crossed his long slim legs elegantly, crossed his hands in a neat little temple on his lap, and observed John quietly for a moment before saying,  
  
 “You wanted to talk.”  
  
 Realizing the _schtick_ wasn’t working, John took a huge puff on his cigarette, and dramatically blew the smoke out over his head.  
  
 “We need to find a way to put an end to this ridiculous feud,” John said in what Paul, relieved, thought was a rational voice. No sneaky undercurrents. “These people are always trying to play you against me. Do they do that to you too?”  
  
 “They sure do,” Paul responded softly.  
  
 “Half the time I don’t even know what nonsense I said about you – you know, just saying anything to make them stop asking - and then when I see it in print I’m shocked at what I said!”  
  
 Paul laughed and nodded his head, acknowledging that this also had been something he experienced.  
  
 “You know I don’t mean those things, don’t you?” John’s voice had become softer, more insecure.  
  
 Paul thought about this for a while before responding in a very objective voice. “What I’ve always thought is that you really did mean those things, but only for that minute. A minute later you might be contradicting yourself, but by then the reporter was gone.”  
  
 John laughed appreciatively, and in that moment the love he felt for this man welled up and threatened to drown him from within. How rare was it to be so fully understood, and without a whiff of judgment?   
  
 “The thing is, Paul, I really haven’t changed since 1968 when you broke us up…”  
  
 “John, I didn’t break us up. I thought we’d both grown out of that bit…”  
  
 “Well I hadn’t ‘grown out of it’, and I still haven’t!” John snapped back loudly.  
  
 Paul didn’t know what to say to that. He sat back in his chair, and waited for John to start again. He swore to himself that this time he wouldn’t interrupt. John remembered things his way, and Paul remembered things a different way.  
  
 John took a deep breath. This beautiful man was so fucking infuriating. But John didn’t want to lose his focus, because he had important work to do.  
  
 “So, what I’m saying is, the reason I have a hard time talking to you and being with you is that I can’t be just your friend. I never could, and you know that very well even if you don’t like to admit it. So, what - you’re gonna come visit me with the kiddies and the wife and we’re gonna write songs together while trading quips about the old days? Maybe the two fams will go out for pizza? _Come on Paul_!” John’s voice had gotten louder and more urgent. “In what universe could that ever happen?”   
  
 Paul was feeling something akin to alarm at this point. But he felt locked in a strange dance, like a snake charmed by a flautist.   
  
 John regained his composure, again, and started over, again. “With you, for me, it has to be all or nothing at all. I’ve spent more than a decade trying to bury these feelings, but the goddam things are zombies. They keep getting up out of their graves and chasing after me!”  
  
 Paul began to see where John was going with this. This was more than an attempt to explain why John had been so hostile to Paul. In truth, Paul always knew why John was so hostile – that was why he had rarely responded in kind. Still, he hadn’t expected the ‘all or nothing at all’ comment. That was new; John had never said that before. Back in the sixties they had never been faithful lovers, not to each other, and not to anyone else. Neither one of them – at least in Paul’s memory – had been bothered by that.  
  
 “I can’t give you ‘all’, John, if that’s what you need from me. I’m married, I have four children…”  
  
 “Crap, I know that don’t I?” John shouted back. _Deep breath._ _Calm down. Start over. Frustrating man_! “What I meant was, in order to be your friend I also have to be your lover.”  
  
 Paul was sincerely taken aback by John’s matter-of-fact confession. John had never been that direct about such things in the past. He scrambled for words. “I promised Linda I would never…”  
  
 “So she means more to you than I do.”  
  
 “She’s the one who was there for me when I desperately needed someone.”  
  
 John reacted badly to that. “ _Ahhh,_ okay, now we’re getting down to it. I was fucked up on drugs, Paul! I couldn’t be there for myself, much less anyone else.” John’s voice had grown loud and angry.  
  
 Paul’s voice was gentle and measured in response. “I understand that, it was not your fault, but nevertheless, I was going under. Linda was there for me, and I owe her for that.”  
  
 John felt this indictment thud against his soul. His voice hushed. “You can’t forgive me for that? We were _all_ messed up. Too much fame, too much money, too much of everything. People always whispering in our ears, turning us against each other. And, if I’m going to be 100% honest about it, I was insanely jealous of all those fucking women and I took it out on you a lot!”  
  
 Paul laughed, in spite of himself. “You had your share of those ‘fucking women’, too, John, if I remember correctly.”  
  
 John was a little grumpy. “They were a hell of a lot more attractive to me when you and I were fucking them in the same room. I could get off by watching your ass bopping up and down in the next bed…”  
  
 “Enough! Enough with the ass!” [But Paul was laughing. John saw that as a good sign.]  
  
 John modulated his voice so it sounded calm and rational. “Linda doesn’t need to know. No one needs to know. They didn’t know before, and they don’t need to know now. I guess what I’m saying is, I need you in my life again, even if it has to be a secret. Is it really such a betrayal of Linda to love me too, if it is our secret?”  
  
 Paul was still and his face was immobile. John couldn’t read him, and could only feel the beat of his own heart. Paul shifted in his chair, and finally spoke.  
  
 “I don’t know, John. I want to agree with you, but part of me thinks it would be an unforgiveable betrayal of Linda. And I don’t know if I could even…go there…with you now. I haven’t even _thought_ about that kind of sex in years…”  
  
 John smiled, but he tried to do so without showing the triumph he felt. This was exactly like that first time, when he was talking Paul into having sex in Paris in 1961. Paul had told him as a last line of defense, “I don’t even know if I can do it!” John had very quickly shown him that he most definitely could do it. This was what gave him the courage to get up, and walk towards Paul’s chair. He placed one hand on each arm of the chair, and leaned over Paul, who was sitting back in the chair, a little hunched. Paul’s arms were sort of crossed on his chest, as if to protect it from the onslaught.  
  
 Paul certainly did see it coming. He knew what was coming next. He didn’t lift a finger to stop it. He didn’t do anything to further it, either. He just stared suspiciously into the amber eyes as John leaned in on him.  
  
 “Come on Paul, you know you want it,” John said in a deeply seductive voice. “I can _feel_ that you want it.” John’s face leaned all the way in and took possession of Paul’s mouth. There was nothing gentle or sweet about this kiss. This was naked passion, and, while still on a leash, it was straining to be let loose. Paul felt the invasive tongue – it was prying his mouth open. Their teeth clashed, and Paul’s teeth reacted involuntarily by parting, allowing John’s victorious tongue access to Paul’s full mouth.  
  
 Paul was feeling it all. It started in his toes and worked its way up to his spine, and was soon tingling at the top of his head. He knew he was only a few feet away from losing control, but he was fighting for his ground… not by pushing John away, but instead by retreating into that locked compartment in his brain that belonged only to him. John could do what he would to his body, Paul may not have the willpower to stop it, but Paul felt the usual intense need to protect his core –the part of him that no one else was ever allowed to touch.  
  
 John, meanwhile, felt nothing but passion. He had no thoughts at all except that he wanted more, and he was going to get it. After several moments of devouring Paul’s mouth, he finally pulled back and was titillated to see Paul’s lovely little mouth all pink and puffy from his assault. Paul’s eyes were still dark green/brown pools of deep water. He knew those eyes – he knew they were the harbinger of a pending surrender. John grabbed Paul by his arms and pulled him up out of the chair.  
  
 They stood quietly for a moment, their arms loosely around each other, watching each other’s eyes, and then John went for Paul’s mouth again, only this time more gently, more lovingly. John was surprised by Paul’s arms. They were suddenly tightly around him, strong and dominant. John’s knees buckled a little with the strength of his reaction, but Paul’s strong arms held him up.  
  
 Paul was kissing him back now. John remembered that Paul didn’t like kissing him back in the ‘60s because he felt it was too intimate somehow, but now he was answering John tongue for tongue, and the sounds emanating from Paul’s throat matched John’s sounds exactly. John’s cock got all the way hard in one short second as he remembered how much he loved to be submissive in Paul’s arms. This is what he had wanted and needed for twelve fucking years!  
  
 Paul was on fire. He had forgotten - no, he had banished -those memories of how every fiber of his being was alive when he and John were touching each other like this. He knew he was going to regret this big time, but he couldn’t stop now. With John still in his arms he began to move towards the bedroom. They didn’t stop their frantic embraces and kisses as the bed got nearer and nearer. John was fumbling unsuccessfully with Paul’s shirt buttons, and, giving up, he instead roughly grabbed Paul’s sack and squeezed.  
  
 “Christ!” Paul shouted, momentarily letting go of John’s tongue. The sound of the word was muffled, though, because the two mouths were still conjoined.  
  
 John didn’t stop, because now, as they stood by the foot of the bed, he was fumbling with Paul’s zipper. Paul let him do it; he couldn’t pull his mouth away from John’s. It was like their mouths were magnetized or something. John’s hand was pulling at Paul’s underwear, and desperately caressing every bit of skin it came in contact with on its frenzied journey to get to the core of the matter.  
  
 Before he could get much further, Paul pushed John down on to the bed, and for a few brief seconds they were separate. John was staring up at Paul with a dazed grin on his face. Paul leaned over and unzipped John’s pants, pulling them down, along with the underwear, below John’s knees and then freed them entirely, throwing them aside. He followed this by grabbing John’s t-shirt and ripping it off over his head. Paul then scrabbled around with his own shirt until he got it off, throwing it across the room, and then pulling the undershirt off, and throwing that too. Finally, he finished what John had started, by pulling his own pants down far enough that his penis – looking like a proud peacock in full array – was pointing straight at John.  
  
 John got the hint, and sat up. Placing one hand on each butt cheek, he pulled Paul’s member towards him, and began licking and then slurping Paul’s cock and balls, before sucking in the full length of Paul, as far as his mouth could reach, re-familiarizing his tongue with the various veins, crooks and crannies on Paul’s member. Paul’s hands were running themselves through John’s hair, and periodically convulsing on his scalp. Paul knew he had thrown his head back, exposing his neck, and he felt as though his eyes were sucked back into his brain. He didn’t want John to finish him though. He knew which body part he wanted to finish in, and it wasn’t John’s mouth! He withdrew and John whimpered with the loss. He pushed John back against the mattress again, and then, with his arms under John’s shoulders, urged him to move up towards the head of the bed. John struggled to comply, but he did so with his hand firmly around Paul’s hard dick. John wasn’t about to let him go, for fear Paul might make a run for it.  
  
 Paul had no intention of running away. It was awkward shedding himself of his pants, what with John holding on to his cock with a death grip and all, but where there’s a will there’s a way.  
  
 Next thing John knew, Paul was on top of him, both of them fully naked, and Paul was gently holding the two sides of John’s face in his two hands. Looking up from underneath his lashes, John saw the sultry expression on Paul’s face as he leaned in to retake possession of John’s open and willing mouth. John closed his eyes and let the crazy energy flow over him, secure in the knowledge that Paul had surrendered to him at last.  
  
 Paul pulled back from the kiss, and his eyes smiled mischievously down into John’s. “I know I’m gonna regret this in the morning,” he growled, in that deep fluid tone he saved for the midst of sex. John’s answer was a fluttering of heart and eyelashes. Soon John felt Paul’s fingers exploring below, purposely zeroing in on his asshole. John expelled a loud sigh, and his body jerked involuntarily as Paul’s fingers continued to probe in and massage that sensitive area.  
  
 “Do you have anything?” Paul whispered in John’s ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
 Abruptly brought back to his conscious mind, John managed to whisper, “my jacket pocket.” In a split second Paul was off him, and John moaned in despair at the loss. But then he heard Paul tussling frantically with the coat jacket, and he smiled smugly. The normally cool, calm, and collected Paul was as desperate for this fuck as John was, and this filled John with a newfound confidence. He was going to give Paul the ride of his fucking life tonight! Then maybe Paul would never be able to leave him again.  
  
 “Ah Johnny! It’s the real stuff! You think of everything!” Paul crowed victoriously, having finally found the tube.  
  
 In less than a moment, Paul was hovering over him again, one knee on either side of John’s thighs. Without a word John held out his hand, and Paul squeezed a dollop of the purpose-made lubricant on to John’s palm. He then took a dollop for himself. They each went straight to work, remembering this ritual from their past seven-year love affair: John was rubbing the lube on Paul’s cock, coating it heavily while using his hands to warm up the gel, and Paul worked it around his fingers, and soon John felt the first of Paul’s fingers tracing around the rim of his hole. John shivered at the touch and the anticipation, and felt as though he would burst when the finger finally intruded inside him.  
  
 Paul’s head was above his, and he could just see with the ambient light coming in from the other room, the intense inward concentration on Paul’s face as the finger became bolder, testing the sides of John’s anus. John was practically cooing – he couldn’t help himself. Paul’s finger briefly retreated, but then was back with reinforcement. Now there were two fingers. John relaxed under the pressure, breathing deeply in his lower belly, willing himself to just let go… _let go._ His hands, meanwhile, had again grabbed Paul’s ass cheeks – god, he loved Paul’s ass, maybe more than anything in the whole fucking world – and was urging him with each squeeze to stop the foreplay and begin the fucking play! He next heard Paul chuckling in response, followed by a wicked throaty whisper directly in his ear:  
  
 “You always were greedy and impatient, Johnny, I almost forgot.”  
  
 John smacked Paul’s ass with one of his hands in response, enjoying the sound of slapped flesh, because by now Paul’s mouth was over John’s, and John was not in a position to respond verbally. Paul’s fingers withdrew, and soon John felt the probing tip of Paul’s cock rubbing itself on John’s hole. By habit, John’s hand grasped Paul’s cock, and guided it to the right spot, and Paul’s cock did the rest.   
  
 The discomfort was considerable, which surprised John. He hadn’t remembered that part; he only remembered what it felt like when they were really thumping away. In response to the tightness inside him, he dug his fingers deep into Paul’s ass cheeks, and Paul stopped moving when he felt fingernails digging into him.  
  
 “Are you okay? Should I stop?” he whispered.  
  
 “Fuck yeah I’m okay! And fuck no don’t stop!” John hissed.  
  
 Encouraged, Paul resumed his activity, little by little, through thrust and withdraw, moving himself deeper and deeper into John. Little by little John’s discomfort eased, and feeling John’s release, Paul increased his tempo. Soon, the urges were too much for both of them, and they were pounding into each other with abandon, noises and cries escaping periodically from both of them.   
  
 Paul’s perfect sense of rhythm was doing it to him again, John knew, and he reveled in it. “ _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_ ,” John was growling under his breath, in time with Paul’s thrusts. This kind of excitement can’t last long, and soon Paul felt like he was going to explode. He didn’t want to cum before John, just like he didn’t like to cum before Linda or anyone else for that matter. He felt it was his job first to please, and then to be pleased. It was only good manners, after all. He bit down on his lip and slowed his pace to regain control, and John moaned in reaction.  
  
 Without thinking, Paul did what he did with Linda when he wanted her to go first. He gathered John up in his arms, and began sweet, deep, passionate kisses while slowly moving inside John’s body. John was taken completely unawares, since Paul had never exposed him to this kind of romantic fucking before. He honestly hadn’t known Paul was capable of it. It was so blindingly amazing, and it so utterly stripped him of all of his defenses. John’s knees squeezed Paul’s waist tighter, and he pushed his pelvis up to meet Paul’s lazy thrusts, and with a practiced but barely noticeable twist on Paul’s part, John felt the longed for triggering of his orgasm. It started slowly, and then took up speed, rolling over him in what seemed like endless waves.  
  
 As the first spit of John’s cum hit Paul’s stomach, he knew he could let himself go. With a few more demanding thrusts, Paul had pushed himself over the edge and could feel the spasms forcing the sperm out of his loins and into John. The two men rocked up and down a few more pulses together as the last waves of their orgasms finally subsided. Then they laid there, Paul feeling like a deflated sweaty mass melting into John’s chest, and John holding tightly on to Paul’s lower back, in an effort to keep him bonded there forever. Their breathing was still coming in ragged exhalations, but slowly, with time, both of them felt utter exhaustion, and their breathing became slow and deep. Neither man felt the urge to move or speak or even feel anything. They just held each other tightly, as if for dear life, and clung.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So What Happened Next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In most of the fics I've read where John and Paul finally give in to their sexual desire for each other, the problems that in reality would face them afterward never happen. I get it. We were all raised on "happily ever after." But given the way I've written this fic, I don't have that luxury. So, intrepid, I move forward to the morning after...This chapter is a little short, but the one after it is longer. It just worked out that way.

 Paul awoke with a start. He wasn’t on top of John anymore, but on his own back, with John snuggled under his arm, head on Paul’s chest. For a brief moment the night’s events paraded through his mind’s eye but then… _Fuck! What time was it?!_   
  
 John began to stir, having absorbed Paul’s anxiety, and was immediately worried too. “What time is it?” John croaked in alarm.  
  
 Paul twisted to see the clock radio by the bedside. He sighed with deep relief. It was only a little past 1 a.m. They’d only been asleep an hour or two. It could have been a lot worse.   
  
 “It’s time for us to get up and go back to our respective wives,” Paul chuckled. He was glad to feel his pulse going back to normal. He sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.  
  
 John groaned at the light, stretched, and then cried “Ouch!” Paul grimaced at him in sympathy. “I never want to move again,” John mumbled, as his rectum throbbed and he felt the now-remembered post-coital soreness down there. Funny how he’d left that bit out of his memories, he thought.   
  
 “We both need to shower, so I’ll go first. You can lie around a while longer that way.” Paul was already up, and striding towards the bathroom, pausing every so often to pick up and study items of clothing, dropping those that weren’t his, and collecting those that were.   
  
 John had no intention of showering separately from Paul. He gave Paul a head start, and after he heard the water start, he forced himself to sit up, moving his ass gingerly, feeling every yank and pull as he slid to the side of the bed. He found the tube of lube lying on the floor where Paul had evidently thrown it in his impatience to get humping, and he smiled. He searched around for the cap, but never found it. He was going to need that lube after the shower.  
  
 Paul was humming in the shower again. John smiled at the memories. So fucking cheerful all the time. It made you want to vomit sometimes. He opened the shower door, and Paul’s mouth formed in a perfect “Oh”. John pushed him against the wall and grabbed him around the waist, and then nibbled Paul’s ear. Paul hadn’t embraced him back yet, he was sort of propping himself up by grasping John’s upper arms, as if to push him away, but only in a half-hearted way. John was not deterred, and he continued to cover Paul’s face and neck with little butterfly kisses.   
  
  _He’s never done this before_! Paul was thinking to himself, as feathery little kisses were landing all over his upper body, in random fashion. _What’s this all about_? John was actually crooning to him; yes, it was crooning, and very sentimental crap at that. Paul couldn’t believe his ears! John never said shit like that! As his shock wore off, Paul strained to hear the words.   
  
 “You’re so fucking beautiful,” John was whispering in between kisses, “I don’t know what to kiss next…God, your fucking body, it is like a bleeding shrine to me…”   
  
 Paul responded to this errant nonsense with a bewildered “ummmm.” What the hell was he supposed to do now? He didn’t recognize this man. It was as if he went to bed with John, and woke up with a fucking stranger. Sex was one thing, but this kind of mushy love was something altogether different. This had never been part of their love affair. It had been more of a _sex_ affair, truthfully. At least for Paul it had been.   
  
 “Come on baby, open up, let me love you,” John was still crooning, his lips hovering over Paul’s mouth, and his hands squeezing Paul’s beloved ass again. Without thinking, Paul obediently opened his mouth, and John went charging in. As his tongue marauded every inch of Paul’s mouth, his genitals were busy rubbing against Paul’s, and the friction was sending off sparks, even with the water pounding down on them.   
  
 John next dropped down on his knees, and took Paul’s cock in his mouth. He put everything he could think of into the slow, leisurely blowjob. Paul was flat out moaning, and without warning he suddenly came right in John’s mouth. Paul buckled at the knees as John started back up Paul’s body with his tongue until they were mouth to mouth again.   
  
 John had to smile. Poor Paul looked like a deer in the headlights. He didn’t know what was happening. John traced Paul’s left eyebrow with his thumb, and then let his thumb move idly down to Paul’s cheekbone, and then down to his chin. “You’re a fucking treasure chest,” John told him, staring Paul in the eye, and daring him to argue. Paul blinked but said not a word.   
  
 John turned off the water, and pushed open the door. He pulled a bath towel off the shelf and held it open for Paul to step into. Not really believing any of this was happening (perhaps he was still asleep, and this was a dream?) Paul stepped out of the shower, turning around so John could drape the towel around him. And then he turned around to face John again.  
  
 John said: “I have a two hour break between interviews today; I can slip away. I’ll meet you here at 12:30.”  
  
 Paul didn’t respond verbally, but the look on his face was a kind of admission of defeat.   
  
 “Good, now that we’ve settled that, we’d better get some clothes on and leave.” John was feeling confident and triumphant. He had come, he had seen, and he had most definitely conquered. By the looks of him, Paul didn’t know if he was going or coming.   
  
 “Oh, but first,” John fluted, handing Paul the tube of lubricant with a very cheeky grin, “I need you to doctor up my sore bum!”

***********

  
 Paul’s car, hired by the concierge, dropped him at Cavendish 30 minutes later. It was now a little past 2 a.m. He hoped Linda was asleep. He really didn’t want to talk with her until he had a chance to digest what had happened, and for fuck’s sake what could he ever possibly say to her? Lies were the only option, and he knew that meant he was now officially on the slippery slope he had so diligently avoided since the day he married her.   
  
 First, he was subsumed in guilt. He vowed not to see John anymore. He was mush in John’s hands, and he knew it. The only way was to avoid him entirely. John was going to hate him again. He’d probably trash him some more in interviews, and would never forgive him. But he couldn’t further betray Linda and their children.   
  
 Now, he felt the shame. His kids. How humiliating for them to ever find out that he enjoyed fucking a man. That would twist their minds forever, no doubt.   
  
 He dragged himself up to the master bedroom, feeling as though he was facing an execution. Inside, he saw that Linda was sprawled comfortably on their bed. She looked so safe, comfortable, and… _normal_. Not like the weird over-powering feelings that went on between him and John. He slowly removed his clothes, brushed his teeth vigorously to remove the taste of John’s final kiss goodbye, and climbed in to bed.   
  
 It looked like he was going to get away with it. Linda turned over in the bed and put her arm around Paul, and then spooned, with Paul in front. She then whispered, “Glad to have you back.” Paul’s eyes flew open. His guilty conscience was working over time. Surely, she meant nothing untoward by that! He talked himself down from his flight of concern, and gradually Linda’s warmth and softness lulled him to sleep.   
  
 In the morning, he awoke and saw that Linda was still there with him. It was the school holidays, so the kids hadn’t awakened yet, but usually Linda was an early riser. Trying not to disturb her, Paul slipped out of bed, and went to use the bathroom. He was naked, bending over the sink brushing his teeth, when he felt Linda’s hand making gentle little traces on his bum. He met her eyes in the mirror, toothbrush stayed.   
  
 She smacked him lightly on his bum and said,  
  
 “I wouldn’t walk around buck naked for awhile, if I were you,” and then left the room. Baffled, Paul went to the floor length mirror, and turned his back to it. With a hand mirror he tried to see what Linda was talking about.  
  
  _Oh hell no_! Plain as day on both ass cheeks were two sets of bruises in the perfect shape of a man’s fingerprints! So much for hiding anything from Linda! There was no explaining this away. Feeling weak and panicked, Paul got dressed and went downstairs to face the wrath of Linda.   
  
 In the kitchen the kids were slurping and smacking over their breakfast, and Linda slipped some oatmeal in front of him. Paul waited until the children had migrated to the sitting room to watch morning telly, and then he cleared his throat.  
  
 “Linda, sit down…please.”  
  
 She did so promptly.  
  
 “There’s no point in lying,” Paul said sheepishly, and he felt himself blushing. “John and I…well, we sometimes used to…”  
  
 Linda interrupted.  
  
 “You were lovers back then. I know.”  
  
 “You know?” Paul was astounded. Here, he thought he’d hid it so well.   
  
 “Of course I knew. I always knew.” Linda saw the deep fear and anxiety in Paul’s face. “It never mattered to me,” she continued. “As the two of you were always telling everyone - love is love. I happen to believe that too.”    
  
 “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Paul said, shame filling his face.  
  
 “Didn’t you?” Linda asked softly. Paul was staring at her with new eyes. She smiled at him again and added, “I suspected what John was after. And I pretty much knew that you were tempted. Once you left our house last night, the moment the door closed behind you, the future was foretold.”   
  
 Paul was numb. He didn’t know what to say or even what to think. He finally managed to say something,  
  
 “Do you want me to leave?”  
  
 Linda shook her head vigorously: “No! Of course not! You wouldn’t know what to do without me, you lummox!”   
  
 Paul felt relief course through his whole body. “Thank god, Lin. I promise I’ll never let that happen again.”  
  
 Linda cocked her head to one side, and said, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Paul. He wants you back, and he won’t give up, and you won’t be able to say ‘no’. I wish it wasn’t true, but not for the reasons you think. I am afraid he is going to hurt you again. Badly. And I’ll be the one picking up the pieces again. I don’t mind doing it, it is just that it is so hard for me to watch you in that much pain.”   
  
 “It’s just sex, you know,” Paul mumbled, staring down into his oatmeal.   
  
 “If you say so,” Linda chirped. She got up and started clearing up the dirty dishes and stacking them in the sink.   
  
 “So what happens now?” Paul asked, confused about his status.  
  
 “So we go on as usual, and next time you’ll make sure you don’t come home all bruised up. I don’t want to know. I want to keep that separate from our family and our life together. But the kids and I have to come first in your life, Paul. That is where I’m drawing the line. John has a wife and son and a life in New York and a career, so it will be no sacrifice for him. Understood?”  
  
 Paul nodded numbly, thinking to himself he’d never be able to fuck John again. This discussion and Linda’s matter-of-fact revelations had sucked all the sexiness out of it. In fact, at that moment his cock felt so small and shrunken he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fuck Linda again either! _How do I get myself into these fixes_? Paul asked himself, knowing full well that his cock had led him into trouble time and again over the years, and after a hiatus since his marriage, it was showing every sign of reactivating its troublemaking.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, The Day After the Morning After

 John’s return to his Ritz bedroom was uneventful, and although he thought he would not be able to sleep, he was dead to the world only moments after his head hit the pillow. He slept soundly and peacefully, to be awakened by Yoko shaking his arm at 10 a.m. They had an 11 a.m. interview, and then Yoko had a two hour lunch business meeting. John had his own plans for that 2-hour afternoon break.  
  
 As he dressed and then ate his corn flakes, John was deep in thought. His ass was still quite sore, and he smiled into his cereal remembering why. It was absolutely delicious having a secret lover. After so many dull, repetitive years, it felt like a reprieve from prison to have something special and arousing to look forward to. He anticipated his upcoming stolen hours with Paul, but he was also enjoying the wait time – the anticipation itself.  
  
 Yoko noticed a change in John. Being back in England was doing funny things to him. She feared he was going to announce that he was through with New York, and wanted to move back to England. That was not going to happen, but still she was not going to enjoy the scenes and tantrums she would have to endure before she quashed the idea entirely. John was really a child, and he liked firm handling.  
  
 The interview was more bullshit, bullshit, and bullshit. He was of course asked the obligatory questions about Paul:  
  
 “Have you seen Paul on this trip?”  
  
 “Yes, we met along with George and Ringo at George Martin’s house a few evenings ago.”  
  
 “Did you have a chance to talk?”  
  
 “Not privately, no. It was a group thing, with everyone talking at once. You know how that is. All four of us at once, going on about old times, funny memories, catching up.”  
  
 “Do you have plans to meet again?”  
  
 “No plans, no.”  
  
 John felt like he had been freed from a cross-examination when he finally got out of that interview. He hopped into a cab before Yoko could say ‘boo’ to him, and was off. He went directly to the Beaufort Arms, and collected the key to Room 506 and headed straight to the elevator. He was a little early, it was not yet 12:30, and the room was empty and a little chilly. He clicked on lights against the gloom of the London weather, closed the drapes, and turned the thermometer up to make it warmer. He went to the liquor cabinet, and poured out two tumblers of whiskey, one finger each, and then headed for the bedroom suite. He pulled the coverlet down, folding it at the bottom, and arranged the pillows. He then went in to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, and then removed his clothing, folding it and hanging it as appropriate. He put on one of the over-sized hotel dressing gowns, which was warm and comfy, and placed the other one on the bed for Paul. It was now 12:30. He had about two hours, and then he would have to be back at the Ritz in time for Yoko’s return from her business meeting.  
  
 The minutes began to tick by, and John became restless. He checked the clock obsessively. He knew he was being neurotic, but he began to have terrible thoughts. What if Paul wasn’t coming? What if he was repulsed by what happened and didn’t want to see him anymore? More like, guilt over his family may have made him choose to turn away from John. By 12:45 John was convinced that Paul was going to stand him up. His brave attempt to reach out and grab his dream had failed! John was pacing and starting at every sound, and tears started coursing down his face. This was going to fucking destroy him!  
  
 It was 12:50 when John thought he heard the key in the lock. At this point he was sprawled on the bed, weeping. He quickly sat up, wiping his face, and trying to look nonchalant when Paul appeared in the doorway.  
  
 “Are you _crying_ , John?” Paul was stunned to see this.  
  
 No point in holding back, John thought. “You’re late – very late – I thought you weren’t coming.”  
  
 Paul entered the room and sat on the side of the bed, facing John.  
  
 “I didn’t think I was coming either, but that is the coward’s way out.”  
  
 “You’re fucking leaving me aren’t you?” John cried.  
  
 Paul grinned slightly as he remembered John’s tendency – in their first love affair - to indulge in histrionics and jealous rages. “We aren’t ‘together’ John, so I can’t ‘leave’ you, can I?”  
  
 John was not amused. He was raw and his heart was beating loudly. “Just tell me and get it over with,” John growled.  
  
 “Something happened this morning. It was serious.” Paul looked steadily at John, and noted that he had John’s full attention now. “Linda knows about us. She knew when we woke up this morning.” Paul raised his talkative left eyebrow and a glint of humor touched his eyes. “You left some pretty incriminating bruises on my bum,” he said. John actually blushed a little. “Linda pointed them out to me.”  
  
 “Oh, Christ Paul, I’m sorry. What did she say? Did she kick you out?”  
  
 “No, that was the weird thing. She wants me to stay. I tried to tell her I would never do that to her again, and do you know what she said?”  
  
 John shook his head ‘no’, but no words came out of him.  
  
 “She said I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep. She thinks you want me back. Is that true, John? Do you want me back?” Paul’s face reflected confusion and doubt.  
  
 John was speechless. Whatever he had expected, he had not expected this. He couldn’t figure out if this was good or bad news. John felt his mouth moving, and then he heard himself say,  
  
 “I never wanted to lose you in the first place, Paul. Of course I want you back.”  
  
 “It isn’t just the sex then? I thought it was only the sex.”  
  
 John looked at Paul as if he was crazy.  
  
 “If sex is all you’re willing to give me, then that is what I’ll take. It doesn’t mean I don’t want more.” John had said the words and he let them sit out there in the air.  
  
 After a moment of objective contemplation, Paul finally spoke. “It’s so fucking confusing. Linda seemed to be saying she would look the other way if I wanted you for my lover. But then she said she didn’t want to know about it, it had to be invisible to her, and she also said she and the family had to be my first priority no matter what.”   
  
 John still didn’t know what to make of all this. It was just that he was noticing how adorable Paul looked when he was confused. He always looked as if he was in physical pain when he was confused. He probably was. John scooted to the side of the bed so he was sitting next to Paul, and he put his arms around him, and nuzzled his neck. He whispered in Paul’s ear,  
  
 “It will be alright, Paul. You need your family. I get that. I won’t mess with your family. But when you’re with me, I want you for myself. I live in fucking New York! How often can we really see each other? It can’t be that big of an obligation, can it?”  
  
 Paul was hearing the soft persuasion in John’s voice, and he felt the gentle rustling around his neck – little smooches and bites. One of John’s hands was deftly unbuttoning his shirt. Paul sighed deeply, knowing he was a goner again. Linda was right – he couldn’t say no to John. He felt a bit wanton, as he shrugged off his jacket, and then pulled John down with him on to the mattress, and they faced each other. They began to kiss. There were all kinds of kisses, all over their faces. Neither man could remember a time when he had kissed one face for so long a time.  
  
 Paul broke the silence with, “Are you still sore John?”  
  
 No way was John going to say ‘yes’ to that question, even if his fucking arsehole was on fire! Instead of answering the question with a lie, John said instead,  
  
 “Get your fucking pants off, McCartney. We don’t have a lot of time left.”  
  
 Paul struggled with his pants, and John was impatiently assisting him. While he and John were mindlessly ridding him of his pants, Paul was thinking to himself what a wuss he was. Linda would be rolling her eyes if she could see him now. For a brief moment this stayed his erection, but John was on the case. Paul’s pants went flying, and John was down around his dick, playing with his balls, and preparing to start sucking. Paul told his ego to sit down and shut up, and prepared to let his id take control of the proceedings. No one – mark that – No. One. Could blow his cock like John could. He quite liked having his cock sucked, and John’s genius in that skill had always been a huge factor in Paul’s decision to be John’s lover. It’s one thing to be all lovey-dovey. It was a whole other thing to have your cock blown in one end and out the other!  
  
 John stopped short of allowing Paul to have his orgasm. He stopped sucking and then made a dive for the lube. He splurted a huge dollop on Paul’s palm. Paul, without thinking, began smearing it in John’s anus. In reaction, John cried out inarticulately, partly in pain. He then smeared the gook on Paul’s cock, making Paul moan. Slowly, fully aware of the soreness in his ass, John lowered himself on Paul’s cock. Paul was lying flat on his back with his legs akimbo, and was making incoherent noises, as John, straddling Paul’s lower body, slowly – ever so slowly - impaled himself on Paul’s cock.   
  
 The emotional feeling was exhilarating, even if the physical feeling was a bit raw and tight. John couldn’t believe he had Paul underneath him and completely under his control. Paul had never let him ride him before. He looked down at Paul’s face, and couldn’t believe he didn’t see any resistance there. If he had tried this in 1968, Paul would have flipped him over and started fucking him. Paul had never wanted to be the submissive one. John had gotten used to that requirement, but it didn’t mean that his desire to possess and control Paul wasn’t still there, under the surface. He just hadn’t wanted to scare Paul away. It was as if Paul had needed some kind of evidence that he – Paul – was heterosexual, and that the “thing” with John was an aberration, so John had always volunteered to be the bottom one. Yet here Paul was – lying there in a submissive manner, letting John control the fuck. This excited John so much, that he felt empowered, and so from his perch above, he spoke to Paul’s shadowed face in a deep, controlling voice:  
  
 “I’m gonna fuck the hell out of your cock, Paul. You just lie back and enjoy the ride.” Paul squirmed a little, and a very soft mew escaped from his mouth. John grinned in a Cheshire cat kind of way at this evidence that at this moment he – John Lennon – had all the control over the master control freak Paul McCartney! His excitement resulted in a no-holds-barred fucking session. John actually felt he was riding a horse, and his ass was sliding up and down Paul’s cock in time with the gallop. Paul was gasping and groaning, and allowing John to have the reins.   
  
 “God Paul! You’re the most amazing slut! Christ! I’m greasing your fucking pole!” Were among the obscene interjections John was making as the two frenetically banged against each other in perfect harmony. The pace increased with each thrust.  
  
 Paul felt a kind of relief allowing John to take the lead. He had never before enjoyed being the submissive one, and certainly he didn’t want anyone sticking his cock up his ass! Not even John! But, Paul said to himself, rationalizing, allowing John to fuck his cock was an acceptable compromise, at least to his way of thinking. It was, strangely, a relief to just lie back and respond, rather than always having to initiate. And, a huge plus was that John obviously was having a wonderful time doing it! A ghostly smile passed across his face as he took in John’s beatific expression. Paul was a generous lover, and he was excited by the fact that John was having a great old time.  
  
 Suddenly, however, John stilled himself on Paul’s cock, letting the rim of his anus rest on only the very tip of Paul’s cock. Paul’s thought process was immediately interrupted. Paul’s eyes opened to see what was wrong. What he saw was John’s face right over his, covered with an evil grin. Paul understood with perfect clarity at that moment: John was going to make him beg for it! He understood that as soon as he saw John’s expression. A telltale blush began to invade Paul’s cheeks. No way was he going to beg for sex! No one had ever made him beg for sex! Quite to the contrary.  
  
 From above, John saw the stubborn set forming on Paul’s jaw, and this only made him smile more. John always loved a challenge, and lord knows Paul was the biggest challenge of his life. Paul had always been the most infuriating, unpredictable, ornery, bossy, independent human being that John had ever met. In that moment he felt as though he had to conquer this arrogant independence Paul covered himself with, as if it were an impenetrable magic shell. John needed to infiltrate that outrageous autonomy, and his goal in life was to get Paul to beg for sex. Now. To that end he made a few feints – lowering his ass an inch or so on Paul’s throbbing cock, and then pulling it back to the very tip of the cock again. And repeat. And repeat again. John could feel the frustrated rumblings in Paul’s throat, although he was trying to cover it up.  
  
 “What do you _need_ Paul?” John whispered in a taunting voice in Paul’s ear. Paul did not respond.  
  
 “Do you want me to fuck you, Paul?” John asked, still in a taunting voice. Paul did not respond.  
  
 “No? Maybe I should just withdraw. Do you want me to withdraw, baby?” John taunted.  
  
 Paul was fit to be tied at this point. _Yes you fuck head! Yes I want and need to be fucked! No you fuck head! I don’t want you to withdraw!_ But he was too proud and embarrassed to say those things. To his shame, he felt his body betraying him. His pelvis jutted up and his cock was pushed further into John’s anus. Paul’s involuntary urges only made John chuckle more.  
  
 “Ah, you want it, don’t you baby? Why can’t you just say so?” John whispered in Paul’s ear. John wasn’t about to let him off the hook. He wanted to start out this affair the second time around on an equal footing, without Paul feeling he had the upper hand, as he had in their first love affair. “All I’m asking is for you to tell me what you want. That’s not so unreasonable is it?” John continued whispering to Paul, while he continued to flirt with his ass on the edge of Paul’s cock. It was clearly driving Paul crazy, and this only served to empower John more.  
  
 Paul was frustrated. He wanted John to finish him off, and he could feel – just an inch out of his grasp – one hell of a fucking orgasm, if only John would play fair. The problem was, John was every bit as stubborn as he was, and if he ever wanted to cum he was going to have to meet John at least halfway. Still, the idea of debasing himself to ask to be fucked – this was just too humiliating! Paul opened his eyes and stared defiantly into John’s eyes.  
  
 John laughed at him.  
  
  _Fuck._  
  
 John swirled his ass in a circle, riding just the very tip of Paul’s cock. Paul let loose an involuntary cry.  
  
 “Do you want me to fuck you, Paul luv?” John asked again, a faint whisper in Paul’s ear. “Just nod ‘yes’, and I’ll let you off with that. Otherwise, I can continue to torture you until you give in.” John chuckled as he said this, and he allowed one of his hands to grasp Paul’s left butt cheek, and he squeezed it hard. “So yes?” John asked, squeezing again.  
  
 “ _YES_!” It came out of Paul like an explosion. Those bruised areas still hurt. As soon as it came out, Paul’s face flushed a bright pink. John laughed victoriously.  
  
 “Ok, baby, I’m gonna put you out of your misery, now!” John said loudly, and immediately sat his ass straight down on Paul’s cock, not without a shock of agony running up John's spine.  
  
 “ _Oh god_!” Paul screamed. He couldn’t help himself. He felt the orgasm coming. He wanted to hold it off, but he could not. Paul heard loud, pathetic whimpers. _Oh, no! Is that me? Am I whimpering like a virgin lass?_ Wave after wave of orgasm coursed through Paul, and he felt his prostrate working overtime to send out vanguards of semen, seemingly one wave after the other, but John had quickly withdrawn to avoid the gush of fluid. Paul noticed, and quirked an eyebrow.  
  
 “Messy down there otherwise,” John muttered.  
  
    Soon they were two panting, sweating heaps laid out flat on their backs crosswise on the bed, side-by-side, staring at the ceiling. As the heavy panting quietened to sibilant hisses and then to deep, slow breathing, Paul was finally able to say, in an hilariously normal tone of voice,  
  
 “Well! _That_ happened!”  
  
 John laughed in agreement, and grabbed Paul’s hand, squeezing it tightly.  
  
 “Do you need my help?” Paul asked softly, referencing the fact that John had not yet had an orgasm.  
  
 “I’m fine the way I am,” John said softly. In truth, he had gotten his pleasure from watching Paul have his.  
  
 So there they lay, side by the side, smiling at the ceiling, holding hands. After a few moments, though, they came back to earth, and started moving. John’s ass was killing him, although he would never say so, and when Paul turned to head towards the shower, John followed with a kind of pathetic shuffle.  
  
 As they prepared to part some 20 minutes later, John was running a few minutes late. But he kept Paul backed up against the wall by the door, kissing him repeatedly, and demanding to know when they would meet again.  
  
 “Well, what are your plans, John?” Paul was finally able to ask when John let him up for air.  
  
 “We’re leaving for Liverpool in the morning. Why don’t you go to Liverpool too?”  
  
 “Oh God no, John. Can you imagine? Both of us in Liverpool at the same time? We’d be asking for it. They’d follow us everywhere, and what do you think we’d be able to get away with under those circumstances? Anyway, Linda wants ‘us’ to be invisible to her. If I change our holiday plans at the last minute to accommodate you, it would hardly be ‘invisible’.”  
  
 John saw the sense in all that Paul said, but he was still disappointed. He had finally found his one true love again, and here they were – again - sneaking away to hotels, and separating - again - to live their separate lives. Paul saw the disappointment on John’s face and asked if John was coming back to London after the Liverpool trip.  
  
 “We were going to only stop in London one day, and then we were going back to New York,” John responded, with something suspiciously like a pout on his face. Paul chuckled at it, finding it cute. John brightened with a new thought. “I’ll get back to London a day earlier – we can meet here then? Yes?”   
  
 Paul was unable to say ‘no’, even though he had told himself (lied to himself?) that he was only meeting John that day to end further contact with him. Instead, within minutes of his arrival John was bopping up and down on his dick, and now they were planning another meeting! But somehow he would find a way to get away for one more meeting before John’s return to New York without upsetting Linda. Life was going to be much more complicated under this new arrangement, Paul thought. It was to get out from under just such a confusing, complicated lifestyle that he had broken off his first affair with John. Now here he was again right back in it, only it was worse, because he had a wife and children to worry about.  
  
 John left first, since he was late, and Paul waited about 20 more minutes before slipping out the back way, and heading home. He hadn’t told Linda where he was going, and she hadn’t asked. It made him feel like a first class heel. Was he really going to be able to keep this up?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, What Goes Around, Comes Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, because these two women aren’t potted plants, and they have plans and opinions of their own. 
> 
> By the way, for you younger readers, this was what life was like when we didn’t have cell phones…

 John arrived late at the hotel, and Yoko was waiting for him in the sitting room, tapping her foot. She looked really pissed.  
  
 “Where did you go John?” She immediately asked, in that ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone she alone could do so well. John had expected this, and had come up with a plausible alibi.  
  
 “I stopped at a café and was reading my book” – he held up his book to show her – “and was enjoying watching the people walk by. How did the meeting go?” (Executing a quick strategic segue to another topic.)  
  
 Yoko was scrutinizing his face and body language, and John made a big show of flopping on the sofa with abandon (having to suppress the shock of pain from his nether region as he did so) and then he repeated, “The meeting?”  
  
 “The meeting was a little problematic,” Yoko finally answered, deciding for the moment to believe John. (“Trust but verify” was her motto; she would be doing some investigation to find out if John was telling her the truth.) “The promoter is worried that we don’t have enough material to support a concert tour.”  
  
 “I have been saying that all along, Mother,” John pointed out. “I haven’t been that excited about the idea.”  
  
 “It’s ridiculous,” Yoko argued. “You have the entire Beatles catalog!”  
  
 “Not the _whole_ catalog, Yoko. I only sang in about 40% of them. And a lot of those songs I’m not crazy about. I wouldn’t want to do them in concert.”  
  
 “Well, you certainly have enough to fill up a 2 ½ hour concert, along with your solo work and my work.”  
  
 “So then I’m going to be doing what I made fun of Elvis for doing? I’m going to be singing my greatest hits? Will we have to be doing it in Vegas?” John’s voice was steeped in sarcasm, and Yoko’s head jerked up at this unfamiliar tone.  
  
  _Oh, here we go, John was finding his voice. I wonder who found it for him_? Yoko thought to herself. _Café my ass._ She would definitely put a stop to it. For now, she decided to drop the subject. Once John got in one of his ornery moods, there was no reasoning with him. At least they were leaving for Liverpool in the morning – away from the clutches of Mr. _You-Can-Do-It-Yourself_ McCartney. She would watch John like a hawk for the rest of the night and until they got on the plane. She would also make a point of finding out if the McCartneys were going to be in Liverpool too.  
  
 Meanwhile, John thought he’d gotten away with it, and this gave him an ill-advised boost of confidence.

*******

   
 Liverpool was – if it was even possible – in even worse economic shape than it had been when John had last visited there, back sometime in 1969. The place was depressing and sad. When he had lived there it still had blocks of bomb-damaged buildings and vacant storefronts; this was still the case, but now add extreme unemployment and lack of commerce. This was distressing to him, but it also surprised him. He hadn’t thought he cared that much. After moving into their hotel, the Lennons went off for some dinner.  
  
 Over the next few days, John took Yoko and Sean on the obligatory visits to all the landmarks of his childhood, but somehow this wasn’t as fun and exciting as he had thought it would be. Sean was an intelligent and curious 5-year-old, but he _was_ a 5-year-old, and after one or two stops he was through with the whole exercise and wanted to go back to the hotel and play. Yoko insisted upon rushing through any landmark that smacked of Paul McCartney, so John wasn’t able to linger and entertain old fantasies in such places as the Inny, the Art College, the Cavern, the Uni pub, or – heaven forfend! – Strawberry Fields.  
  
  Yoko, meanwhile, had done her homework and had learned, to her relief, that the McCartneys were not in Liverpool. They remained in London for the holidays. She had not been able to disprove John’s alibi for that strange afternoon disappearance; but she was unable to confirm it, either, so she still believed he had somehow managed to meet up with Paul that afternoon. She and John only had one day in London at the end of the Liverpool trip, and she could keep her eye on John the whole day. Once she got him back in New York she would go to work undermining John’s troublesome newfound rebelliousness and self-confidence. Then everything would go back to normal.  
  
 Yoko honestly believed she was acting in John’s best interests. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know John and Paul had been lovers going through a horrific “divorce” when she and John had started their affair. It had been so fucking obvious, with John rolling around on the floor moaning Paul’s name over and over. But Paul, having made his choice, had abdicated his possessory interest in John to her. In Yoko’s view, John would only be hurt and hurt again by Paul, since she believed John loved Paul more than Paul loved John. She also believed that Paul had a strong desire to live a straight life, and his devotion to his wife and children would never be tarnished by any emotion John could stoke up in Paul. For that reason, she felt no guilt or compunction about continuing to drive a wedge between the two men. In the end, she thought, Paul would be grateful to her because he wouldn’t be forced to choose between his marriage and his erstwhile lover.  
  
 John, oblivious to Yoko’s suspicions, was desperately missing Paul. It was amazing how quickly he had become re-addicted to Paul. He was having serious withdrawals. Consequently, one late afternoon when Yoko and Sean were taking a nap, and he claimed to be doing the same, John called Paul at home. Just his luck Linda answered. John hung up. He waited a few minutes and called again. This time Paul picked up.  
  
 “Who is this?” Paul demanded, suspecting it was the same person who had called and hung up on Linda.  
  
 “It’s me, John,” John said in a low voice.  
  
 “Oh! Did you just call and hang up?”  
  
 “Yes.”  
  
 “Why?”  
   
 “Because Linda answered.”  
  
 Silence. “Oh.”  
  
 Oh indeed.  
  
 “Let me call you back in a few minutes. Give me your number. I have to go somewhere else.”  
  
 John gave him the number and hung up. He then waited 5, 10, 15 minutes. He was preparing to pick up the phone and call Paul again when the phone rang, and he immediately grabbed it. He whistled into the receiver.  
  
 “So you’re still doing that stupid whistling thing to throw people off?” It was Paul.  
  
 “It works for me.”  
  
 “What do you want, John. Why did you call?”  
  
 “Must I have a reason?”  
  
 “ _Yes_!” Paul responded instantly without doubt, using an over-the-top martinet’s fluty voice. That cracked John up. What could he say after that?  
  
 “I’m just missing you is all. Went to Strawberry Fields today.”  
  
 “Oh?”  
  
 “It was weird. I had Sean and Yoko with me, and we walked right past our place.”  
   
 “’ _There’s a Place’_ , our place?”  
  
 “Yeah.”  
  
 “So what’s it look like?”  
  
 “Overgrown.”  
  
 “I haven’t been back there in several years. It always brought back a lot of memories…”  
  
 “I couldn’t have gone there if we hadn’t made it up, Paul. It would have been too painful.”  
  
 “That’s what I felt about it.”  
  
 “I wish you were here, Paul. I mean right here, right now. I’m literally bursting. Can you talk me through it?”  
  
 Paul blushed at the thought. He had never done phone sex with a bloke before! Well, he said to himself briskly, there’s a first time for everything!  
  
 “So where are you?” Paul asked, self-conscious, so he was using an exaggerated ladies-man voice.  
  
 “I’m lying on the bed. You’re not going to ask me what I’m wearing are you?”  
  
 “Ha ha. Of course not, that’s too cheesy.” Paul stated indignantly, and waited a few perfect beats. And then: “So what are you wearing?”  
  
 John’s laughter was a loud bark; lord, he loved that man! Repartee with Paul was like an intense ping-pong match. “Well, do you want the truth, or would you prefer something sexier?”  
  
 “Sexier is good,” Paul responded in a chipper voice. “I could use all the help I can get.”  
  
 “So where are _you_?” John asked, using his own exaggerated ladies-man voice.  
  
 “I’m in the attic room.”  
  
  _Their_ attic room. John smiled a wide, cat-that-got-the-canary smile. “In that case, I’m stark naked. My cock is harder than a fucking diamond. I’m imagining that you’re naked, too, with an equally hard dick, and you’re lying there on your back looking at me through your eyelashes.”  
  
 “Hey! I thought I was in charge here!” Paul objected.  
  
 John giggled in response. “Well, then get to it son, my dick is killing me!”  
  
 On the other receiver, Yoko was listening. She had heard the phone ring, and wondered who’d be calling them at the hotel. She was completely unsurprised that John had called Paul. It seemed that their rapprochement had gone _much_ farther than she had thought possible for a stolen 2-hour lunchtime interlude. She shamelessly listened in. It was actually really hot. She could pretend that Paul was talking to her! Yoko almost giggled out loud at that idea but thankfully caught herself in time.  
  
 Paul’s voice immediately lowered in pitch, and had become exceedingly sultry. “Grab your cock, John,” he ordered softly. “Now, slowly stroke yourself while imagining my cock rubbing against yours. Are you stroking slowly?”  
  
 John whispered, “ _yes_ ”.  
  
 On her end of the line, Yoko was using her fingers. She wanted to pull her vibrator out, but was afraid the sound would give her away. She held the phone receiver upside down, so that the incoming receiver was against her ear, but the outgoing receiver was up in the air above her hair. She didn’t want any ragged breathing to give her away either.  
  
 “Can you picture me on top of you John? My forehead is on yours. We’ve got our eyes closed. What are you doing?”  
  
 John’s voice sounded far away as he said, “I can feel you against me – it is so fucking…wonderful…I can hardly breathe…”  
  
 “I want to be inside, John. You know that is where I always want to be.”  
  
 “Yes….”  
  
 “Put your finger up there, John; that’s me getting you ready…”  
  
 Suddenly both men heard a loud sound as if a phone had been dropped.  
  
 “Is that you John?” Paul asked with alarm in his voice.  
  
 “I thought it was you.” John responded, with an equally alarmed tone of voice.  
  
 Both men became very silent and listened. They heard nothing.  
  
 Yoko had dropped the receiver as soon as Paul had said the words ‘getting you ready’. She had nearly had an orgasm from those words alone. She hung the phone up as quietly as she could, and turned over to feign sleep in case John came to check on her.  
  
 “Is someone else on the line?” Paul asked in a very authoritarian voice, worrying actually that Linda or one of his children had picked up the receiver. _Crap!_ Why hadn’t he thought of that! What a stupid ass thing to do – in his own home! He could never do that again!  
  
 No one answered his query.  
  
 John was loath to give up his orgasm, but he could tell by Paul’s tone of voice that the mood was most definitely ruined.  
  
 “John, I have to go down and find out if Linda or one of my kids picked up the phone. I don’t think it is a very smart idea us doing this from my phone any more. Too many possibilities for things to go wrong.”  
  
 “I understand, Paul. I really do. I hope it wasn’t on your end. I also hope it wasn’t someone on my end. Maybe it was just a random sound?  
  
 Paul’s tone was dubious: “That’s not very likely, John. If it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t me, then it was someone else. I have to go now. Please don’t call me at home. Leave a message at my office, I have an answering service there, and I will call you back later. I’m sorry, John, but that’s the best I can do.”  
  
 John was hurt by this, but couldn’t argue. He, too, was busy sneaking around to avoid Yoko. He could hardly blame Paul for doing the same thing. Still, it was one more way in which he remained estranged from Paul. One more thing he could no longer freely do – pick up the phone and call Paul. John felt the pang in his heart, and disconsolate, he bid goodbye to Paul and they both rang off.  
   
 Paul went downstairs and was relieved to find out that Heather was at her girlfriend’s, and Stella and Mary were playing with a board game in front of the telly, with James curled up on the sofa. He asked them innocently if they had picked up the telephone, but they all said ‘no’ quite quickly. Well, that was a relief anyway. With his heart beating fast he headed for the kitchen, where Linda was finishing up dinner. She smiled at him brightly and Paul was almost afraid to raise the subject, but he felt he didn’t have a choice.  
  
 “Linda, by any chance were you listening in on the other line on the telephone just now?” He asked, with a serious and almost scared expression on his face.  
  
 She stopped working long enough to look at him. She then said, “No, Paul. I heard the phone ring. Were you talking to John?”  
  
 Paul, immensely relieved, said, ‘Yes. He was the one who hung up on you when you answered. He felt awkward talking to you in light of what you know. But someone was listening in on us; it appears to have been on his side.”  
  
 Linda looked down at what she was doing and forced the tears in her eyes to stop. She had tried to take the high road, and act as though this whole John thing wasn’t hurting her, but in truth it hurt like hell. But she had taken Paul on for better or worse, and she was not going to be one of those wives who spied on her husband, or interfered with his needs and desires. It was hard, and it would be hard for a while, but Linda felt sure it would not take long for John to deal Paul some extremely hurtful blow, and then she suspected the whole ‘John thing’ would finally be over. It was a question of waiting it out. As independent as Linda wanted to appear to be, she deeply loved Paul. She loved him not only as a husband, but also as a wonderful father to the kids, and as her best friend, and as an incredible lover. He was worth the pain; she just hoped it wouldn’t go on too long. She finally felt strong enough to speak:  
  
 “I will never spy on you, or listen in on your telephone calls, or read your mail. I promise you that will never happen. I have more pride than that, for one thing.” Linda’s tone of voice was firm and unyielding. “But do not use our telephone to conduct your…business…with him. The children…”  
  
 Paul flinched. “Linda, I…”  
  
 “No! Don’t make promises you can’t keep! It’ll only make it worse! Do what you have to do, and we’ll see how the whole thing plays out.”  
  
 “I certainly do not deserve you,” Paul finally responded.  
  
 “Well, what has that got to do with anything? I love you Paul. Whether you ‘deserve’ me or not, whatever that means, is irrelevant. If I stop loving you, I’ll let you know. But right now, I still love you very much.”  
  
 Paul’s eyes were watering up. “I love you too, Linda. I’ve got a strange way of showing it, I know. Just say the word, Linda, and I’ll never talk to John again.”  
  
 “I do not want to be the reason why you never talk to John again,” Linda said firmly. “I am hopeful the two of you will find a way to be friends in a way that doesn’t hurt either of you, or your families. But you two will have to figure that out on your own.”  
  
 Paul had walked over to her, and pulled her into a tight hug. He was whispering words of love in her ear, and kissing her. As she always did, Linda felt herself melting. _Why can’t I love Joe Schmo? Why do I always go for these complicated guys_? She thought to herself. There was no answer to that question, so she kissed him back and smiled bravely.  
  
 “Dinner is ready,” she said.

*******

  
 Yoko prolonged her nap for several long minutes, expecting John to burst in at any moment. No bursting occurred. She eventually relaxed, and then became vexed with herself. Now she couldn’t use this ammunition against John directly, because he would know immediately she had been listening in on his telephone conversation with Paul, and that would put her on the defensive. Still, she could make sure the two men never saw each other alone, even if she would find it difficult to stop their telephonic communications. After this event, they would be far more careful and clever, and it was doubtful she’d be able to catch them red-handed like this again.  
  
 John, meanwhile, had quickly concluded that it had been Yoko. He knew this because it was what Yoko did – she spied on him. She controlled his mail – both incoming and outgoing. She controlled his personal assistant and all the servants in the household. They all reported back to her all of his doings. She had made rules about his communications with old, pre-Yoko friends. Every effort to estrange them had been made, and he – like the coward he was – had let this happen. His own son, Julian, had been kept outside the circle. He hadn’t concerned himself with Julian’s financial condition or that of his mother, Cynthia. Aunt Mimi was always complaining that Yoko was cheap and wouldn’t give her any spending money, and was always trying to get her to sell her bungalow and move into a home for the aged. Yoko denied all this, so all John did was try to mediate, in an ineffective way. If he was going to make absolutely sure his family was treated fairly, it would require him to take the time to understand each situation, and pay attention to money and finances (which John hated), and he just wasn’t willing to take the time and effort to learn, so he deferred constantly and totally to Yoko on such matters.  
  
 John blushed at the thought of Yoko hearing Paul dominating him sexually. That was information he would have preferred Yoko never get ahold of. He wondered if she was going to admit that it was her on the line, and decided that no, that was not her style. She would hold that juicy information for another time, when it’s revelation would do the most harm. There was no point in going to confront her, because if he did, she would only say, ‘s _o what? Why the hell were you talking so nasty with another man?_ ’ There was no way he was going to win that argument. So he would pretend that he didn’t know it was her who was listening in, and she would act as though it wasn’t her listening in, and they would go on in their dysfunctional way as they always did. Frustrated both emotionally and sexually, John put an end to his play pretend nap and jumped up to check on Sean.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Back to the Past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is back in New York. He finds that he is sinking into his old rut. He reaches out to his friends for advice…

 John’s plans to get back to London a day earlier were foiled by Yoko’s strategy to keep him as far away from Paul as possible. She flatly refused to leave Liverpool a day earlier, and was determined to glue herself to John’s side the moment they set foot in London’s Heathrow. John knew that he was not going to be able to see Paul again this trip once the plan to return to London a day early was canned. So, while visiting Pete Shotton’s house with Yoko, he whispered to Pete that he needed to use his telephone. From there he called Paul’s answering service and left a cryptic message: “ _Plans changed; will be going directly back to New York via London. Will call from NY to explain. John_.”  
  
 Paul received John’s message, and was unsurprised. Once his panic had worn off over the intercepted telephone call, he had known in his bones that Yoko had been the one listening in. He blushed to know that she had heard him talking like that to John. In fact, it was one of his worst nightmares come true! He knew that she would be using it against him at some time in the future, and whenever she chose to bring it up it would be the most inconvenient and humiliating time for him. Oh well, it was his own fault for being so rash as to agree to participate in that telephone call under such lax security measures. That wouldn’t happen again. Paul did wonder if Yoko confronted John about the call, and that was why John cancelled their meeting.  
  
 Still, Paul was not too disappointed about the cancellation of the meeting. The assignations with John had made him just as unhappy as they did happy. The sexual interludes carried with them equal amounts of guilt and joy, and caused Paul to feel very unsettled and confused. A control freak, Paul did not like feeling that way, so perhaps it was for the best that they not meet that way any longer. Paul was up for songwriting and friendship, but sex - no. During the 12 years of his estrangement from John, he had convinced himself that the whole sex-with-John thing had been an out-of-character youthful peccadillo that he never would have been involved in had he been older and more mature. Thinking of this old chestnut, Paul snickered at his own ignorance. So much for _that_ rationalization, he joked to himself. While Paul did have an unrealistic hope that the two of them could now communicate as friends and perhaps creative partners, and that John would stop using the press as a weapon against him, in truth he had no confidence that - once back in New York and surrounded by Yoko’s control - John wouldn’t slip right back into his old habits and start pissing all over him again. A huge sigh escaped him, and Linda – who was curled up on the sofa with him – gave him a quick, sharp look.  
  
 Linda was not doing as well as she let Paul believe. She began to imagine that Paul was having John fantasies and communications every time she left the room, and even some times when she was sitting next to him, like now. When she and Paul were having sex she was asking herself, ‘would he prefer it if I were John?’ She was going paranoid! She was hoping she could live up to her promise not to spy on her husband or put her foot down with an ultimatum, but at moments like these she was feeling awfully weak.

******

  
 Upon his arrival back at the Dakota, John got swept up in the holiday plans for young Sean, and was preoccupied and content to be burying himself in these details. He had chastised himself while on the airplane for putting himself right back into the ugly dilemma of the 1960’s: Heterosexual married man with child to the world, but with more satisfying homosexual secret life to remain hidden at all cost. What’s more, he had pushed Paul into those sexual liaisons, he knew that; left to his own devices, Paul would never have gone there again. No, Paul would have wanted to sit around writing songs. He had a one-track mind. Now he suspected Paul was sitting at home relieved to have the burden of guilt lifted from him, so that he could go back to his shallow - but apparently happy -married life. Well, _John_ thought Paul’s married life was shallow, since that is what _his_ married life was like. Paul would probably see it differently.  
  
 It wasn’t until a few weeks after Christmas that John began to feel oppressed and smothered by his Dakota life again. It came back to him vividly why he had forced himself back in to Paul’s life again. Now that he had done so, he had no idea what to do next. Yoko was watching him like a hawk ever since that stupid phone conversation (why had he given in to that temptation? _Idiot, idiot, idiot_!), and he knew that the phone was being monitored and so was the mail. It was about this time that he ran into Jason in the lobby. Jason asked,  
  
 “Are you coming Wednesday night for our first At Home of the year?” John’s first inclination was to decline, but then he decided he was bored out of his freaking mind, so he might as well. He answered in the affirmative, and Jason said, “We’re looking forward to hearing about your trip to England!”  
  
 John thought about his problems – the mess he had made. He wanted to talk to Paul, and thought that Gerry and Jason would let him use their phone. So John showed up at their apartment one hour early. He spent a few minutes reacquainting himself with his friends, and then he broached the sensitive subject.  
  
 “I was wondering if I could use your telephone to call someone.”  
  
 “Of course!” they both said, “is yours on the blink?”  
  
 “No, mine is monitored by my wife and her minions.”  
  
 Gerry and Jason stared at him blankly before the penny dropped. “Ah – your one true love?”  
  
 John laughed and said, “Something like that. The problem is, I can only leave a number and a message at an answering service, so I’m not sure when the call will be returned…I was thinking I could leave a message saying when to call me back, and then I can arrange to be here. Would that be okay with you?”  
  
 Both men agreed, and then Jason begged him to tell them about what happened in England with the One True Love. John was reluctant to discuss it, but was gradually encouraged – once plied with some great wine and cheese (Yoko would kill him for going off their macrobiotic diet!) to spill at least some of the beans.  
  
 “Did you see her?” He was asked. John felt awkward about the subterfuge, but felt under the circumstances it was necessary.  
  
 “Yes. We ran into each other at a party in London, and we arranged a meeting. It was awkward; I was dodging Yoko, and …she…has a spouse, too, so we had to sort of sneak around late at night at a discreet place just to see each other privately.”  
  
 “We’re assuming it went well, since you are arranging this telephone call.”  
  
 “I am not so sure about that. You know, we only were able to see each other for a couple hours each twice during the whole three weeks, and one time we had a brief telephone conversation which I think Yoko was listening in on.”  
  
 “Oh no!” Jason emoted. John smiled at him.  
  
 “Indeed,” John said. “Yoko hasn’t said anything, and I haven’t said anything, but she was vigilant about my phone usage before, so it is worse now. It’s her style to keep this to herself until the info is most useful.”  
  
 “Sounds like military strategy,” Gerry muttered, secretly appalled at the breadth of Yoko’s control tactics. He found them to be downright abusive, and didn’t understand why John put up with it. But, he reminded himself, it wasn’t his business, so he was going to keep his mouth shut.   
  
 “So, tell us, how’d the meetings go?” Jason asked with obvious curiosity.  
  
 “Jason!” Gerry chided. “That’s awfully personal!”  
  
 “Yeah, so?” Jason responded and looked back eagerly at John.  
  
 John had to laugh. “So, I am still in love. Nothing has changed for me. I had hoped by bringing it out in the open with h..her, I’d feel better, and I did for a while. But now I’m all freaked out again. I mean, maybe …she…doesn’t feel the same? Maybe she regrets it? She loves her family; it is very important to her. I’m afraid unless I am there physically nearby, able to see her and touch her, she will pull away again…” John’s voice choked up and he stopped, as he felt the anxiety running through him. “Look,” he said, “do you mind if I make my call, and then I can talk some more?”  
  
 Jason showed him into a private study, and John waited for the door to close before picking up the phone and dialing the telephone number he had memorized for Paul’s answering service. He left the phone number and a message: “Please call this number and leave a message when would be a good time to call you, and what number I should use.”  
  
 This was getting way too complicated.  
  
 He went back into the sitting room, and Jason was still eager to hear more details.  
  
 “Don’t bring this up in front of the others, please,” John asked first, “I’m not ready to discuss this with anyone else.” They both quickly agreed. “I’m very anxious. I feel trapped in my marriage, but I’ve always known that if I left my marriage, there is no guarantee that I would end up with her, because of her devotion to her family. So, I knew the best I could hope for would be a secret affair – on the side. I guess the logistics of having that affair are beginning to defeat me. She lives in London, I live in New York. My wife hates London and wants to stay in New York. I can’t go anywhere without her knowing about it. Everyone working for me actually works for her. Even if my lover could come to visit me here, just getting past all the spies to meet would be a major production. You already know the crazy lengths I have to go to just to connect via telephone. All I did by reconnecting with her was to remind myself how much I would rather be with her; but I’m as trapped as I ever was by the situation. It is starting to feel hopeless.”  
  
 Gerry, being a lawyer, had to ask the question.  
  
 “John, why don’t you enter into a trial separation from Yoko, work out a joint custody arrangement for Sean, and move to London yourself? There, you could meet her more frequently and with less stress, and you would find out if she is willing to leave her husband for you. I mean, eventually, it would have to come to that, wouldn’t it?”  
  
 John felt confused about how to respond to this perfectly logical solution. Nothing about his life had ever been logical, so why start now?  
  
 “I wish it were that easy, Gerry,” John responded. “I don’t think she’ll ever leave her family, and I wouldn’t want to put her in that position. She could never be happy if she did that. And Yoko will never let me go without a fight. I represent money and power to her; influence in the art world. She’s got her life just the way she likes it, and she will be ruthless to maintain it. I don’t think I have the strength to stand up to that; I know I’m not smart enough to out plot her, that’s for sure. She sees me coming and going, and knows how to apply pressure. For example, she would never let me take Sean out of the country; she would threaten to expose my secrets if I wanted to separate or divorce. She really does have me by the short hairs.”  
  
 “God, that’s awful!” Jason declared. “You need to get a lawyer and get away from that awful woman!”  
  
 “Jason!” Gerry barked. “This is not our business, and we shouldn’t be handing out gratuitous marital advice. If John says this is not possible for him, we should not be urging him like that.”  
  
 “It’s ok, Gerry. I get very depressed when I think about it. I wish I had more backbone when it comes to Yoko, but I don’t. Now she knows too much about me. She could destroy me if she wanted to, just by leaking a few of my secrets. I would be humiliated and broken.”  
  
 “It sounds pretty hopeless, then,” Jason said. “But who knows – maybe your lover will come through for you. Maybe she will call back and reassure you that all is well. It seems to me if you are willing just to have an affair on the side, a secret one, then the two of you should be able to come up with a way to see each other a few times a year, at least.”  
  
 John nodded bleakly. A few times a year - that was his pathetic best-case scenario. It had only been a few weeks since his two trysts with Paul, and already he was desperately lonely, and obsessed with sexual thoughts. How was he supposed to function like this? Under the circumstances, however, John really didn’t have any other choices.  
  
 So the subject at question time that night, once the At Home gathering kicked off, was “Where and with whom are you happiest?” John looked straight at Jason and then at Gerry, and they smiled sympathetically back at him. No matter what he did, John could not get away from these painful thoughts. He chose to “pass” that night, because he didn’t have the heart to lie and say ‘where I am now’, and he didn’t feel like making up yet another disguised way of saying ‘anywhere so long as Paul is there.’


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Let There Be Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reality sets in on our protagonists, and real life solutions are required. And Jason the Private Eye pushes for some truth.

 The Saturday morning after the Salon evening, the phone rang in Jason and Gerry’s apartment. Jason answered the phone.  
  
 “Hello?”  
  
 “Yes, hello,” said a very sexy British voice. “I’ve been given this number to leave a message for John Lennon,” the voice said.  
  
 Jason perked up. He had been expecting a female voice. Perhaps this was a friend of hers? In other words, was this a way to put more distance between John and her?  
  
 “Yes, we’re his neighbors. What message do you have?”  
  
 “He said I should call and tell him a good time to call me back. He can call me at the following number between now, which is 2 o’clock where I am, for the next three hours, which is 5 o’clock my time. That would be noon yours, right?”  
  
 Jason had been struck by the sexiness of the voice and the fact that the man said John was going to call _him_ back, and because of all these thoughts flooding his brain at once, he at first didn’t realize for a moment or two that he needed to respond.  
  
 “Yes, between now and noon.” Jason belatedly repeated.  
  
 “If that isn’t good, he can try me tomorrow during those hours,” the voice said. He then repeated the number for Jason to write down.  
  
 Well! Jason thought as he hung up. That was weird! First, what a gorgeous speaking voice! And second, what the hell was going on? This woman must be very paranoid if she had a man call for her. Or could it be that...No! That couldn’t be!  
  
 Jason went to the elevator, and down to John’s floor, and banged on the door. John’s personal assistant answered. Jason told him that he was at a loose end, and would love to have John pop up and share some freshly made croissants with him that morning, although “I have to leave by 11:30.”  
  
 A half hour later, when John woke up and strolled into the sitting room the personal assistant gave him the message. At first, John was confused, but then realized what it must be about. He told his P.A. he was dropping by Jason’s apartment for a while, and a few moments later he was ringing the bell at Jason’s.  
  
 Jason let him in. He followed behind John as they approached the study. He was dying to ask John about the male voice, but couldn’t figure out a way to do it tactfully, so he left John to his own devices.  
  
 It was 9:45 a.m. his time, and 45 minutes had passed since Paul had made the call. John’s heart was beating so hard and fast he was having difficulty hearing the phone ringing. After three rings, Paul answered.  
  
 “Paul!” John expostulated.  
  
 Paul chuckled, and responded “John!” in the same excited tone.  
  
 “I can’t believe it worked!” John exulted, and he could hear more of Paul’s warm chuckles on the other end.  
  
 “I feel a little like I’m in MI6,” Paul laughed. “All these coded messages…”  
  
 “It is awkward, yes, but what’re we gonna do?” John responded.  
  
 “True enough. What’s up?”  
  
 John was stumped by that question. “I said I’d call you when I got to New York, to tell you what happened.”  
  
 “It was Yoko on the other end, wasn’t it?” Paul said.  
  
 John was surprised by that comment, but only for a moment. “I believe so, yes, but she hasn’t mentioned it to me yet.”  
  
 “Saving it for just the right moment,” Paul said gloomily.  
  
 “It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is, Paul,” John said. “Now she knows I’m the submissive one!”  
  
 Paul laughed heartily. “John, there are a lot of words I could come up with to describe you, but…submissive? Not even in the top 50!”   
  
 John laughed too. He felt better already just hearing Paul’s cheerful and pragmatic voice.  
  
 “I think she heard the conversation, and so she nixed going back to London a day earlier. The whole time we were waiting for our flight to New York in Heathrow she stayed glued to me. I couldn’t get even a minute to myself. When I went to the men’s room, she insisted I take Sean with me!”  
  
 Paul was chortling on the other end.  
  
 “It isn’t funny, you arse!” John responded.  
  
 “Yes it is. It’s hilarious!” Paul declared. “Did she think I was hiding in one of the stalls, waiting to pounce?”  
  
 “What the fuck are we gonna do, Paul?” John finally asked, all humor erased from his voice, and his anxiety perking at the edge of his voice instead.  
  
 “I get to New York a few times a year, and I suppose we could meet then, but it still feels really tacky to me. Linda is pretending to be mature about this, but I can’t help but feel there is going to be a moment of truth with her if we keep seeing each other, John. I have a hard time hiding things from her; it feels so horrible – even though she basically told me I could.”  
  
 John’s anxiety was rising ever higher in his throat. He finally found his voice. “You’re not pulling out on me, are you? You’re not going to dump me again, are you?” He hated the weak sound of his voice, and knew that anger wouldn’t be far behind it.  
  
 There was a bit of silence on the other end. Then, surprisingly – to John at least – Paul stepped out of character: “No, John, I’m not going to ‘dump’ you, as you so delicately put it. I find it impossible to say no to you. Well, I can _say_ it alright, but I have a hard time making it stick.”  
  
 John felt the blockage in his throat and chest lift. He sighed deeply, and repeated, “So what are we gonna do?”  
  
 “If I make time for you when I am in New York, will you be able to get away?” Paul asked.  
  
 “I’ll move fucking heaven and fucking earth,” John responded.  
  
 “Then, I suppose I can arrange to be in New York a little more frequently than I’ve been known to do. Linda’s got family there, and the record company and John Eastman have offices there, so I think I can get away with increasing my New York visits without raising too much suspicion, say, maybe once a quarter. But we’re only talking about a few hours at a time to meet, John. I can’t be gone for long on any given day, or it will interfere with my family’s needs.”   
   
 “What’s a quarter?” John asked.  
  
 “Are you serious?” Paul asked. And then realized – of course John wouldn’t know what a quarter was. He wouldn’t have bothered to understand such things. “It means once every 3 months or so.”  
  
 “ _Three months_! I have to wait _three months_ each time! I’ll go fucking mad!” John felt like he was going to start hyperventilating.  
  
 “John, my home is in London. And we spend much of the summer in Scotland. When I travel, Linda and the kids always come with me. It’s our deal. It’s how my family operates. It’s the most I can do.”   
  
 “When you come to New York, how long will you stay?”  
  
 “In the past, I’ve spent a few weeks in the Hamptons in late August, but otherwise the few trips I’ve taken were flying business trips – maybe 4 or 5 days max.” Paul was feeling bad that he had to put so many restrictions on their time together, but he didn’t know any other way around the needs of his family. But then he paused for a moment as a thought occurred to him. He wondered if it was too soon to mention it. _Oh, why the hell not_? “Of course, if I had a business reason to spend more time in New York, and with you, then it might be different.”  
  
 “Business reason? Are you kidding? Yoko does all that. I haven’t got a clue.”  
  
 Paul laughed. “I meant, if we were working together again.” Paul let it sit out there, nervously awaiting John’s response.  
  
 John should have seen it coming. Was this why Paul was fucking him? Was this just Paul’s way of getting back into their creative partnership? John felt rage born of insecurity building in his system, and he had to forcibly control his reaction. As it happened, he didn’t have to react.  
   
 Sensing the idea was a strong no go, Paul quickly appended, “Since that’s not on, like I said, maybe a few hours at a time, and not too frequently.”  
  
 John sighed heavily, and allowed his anger to fade away. He was relieved Paul wasn’t going to use this as a bargaining point. But once the anger melted away, the anxiety began to rise again. “When can you come, Paul? I’m so depressed. I miss you so much. When can you next come to New York?”  
  
 Paul sighed on the other end. “I’ll see what I can figure out, John. Maybe next month?”  
  
 John groaned. “A month sounds like a year to me, Paul. I’m so fucking miserable.”  
  
 “It will pass quickly, you’ll see. Anyway, you could always come to London sometimes, and that way we could see each other more often.”  
  
 “Like Yoko will ever let me do _that_! It is going to be hard just getting away while you’re in New York. I feel like a prisoner surrounded by spies.”  
  
 “We’ve chosen a hard road, John. We both have. Maybe we should ask ourselves if it is worth it. I don’t want to hurt my wife and children. I’d rather cut my hands off than hurt my wife and children. But I don’t want to hurt you, either. I’m sure you feel the same way. It’s a very hard road, and if we’re going to walk it, then we might as well get used to it right now.”  
  
 John understood that Paul was right. He understood that if he wasn’t willing to leave Yoko and move to London and agree to live a lie with Paul “on the side”, or if he wasn’t willing to hide their love affair behind another creative partnership like they had done the last time, then his next best option was this “once a quarter” secret meetings crap. While he was relieved that Paul wasn’t pulling out of the relationship altogether, he was also depressed that the reality of their lives was going to circumscribe their time together so severely.   
  
 “I have been so horny,” John said, leaving the depressing facts behind.  
  
 “I hope you’re not going to ask me to do phone sex again,” Paul laughed. “The last time worked out so well!”  
  
 “Paul – please! Have mercy on me!”   
  
 “Ok, so where were we? Oh yeah, you were sticking your finger up your arse and pretending it was mine…”  
  
 “You’re so fucking romantic, Paul.”  
  
 Chortles over the phone line made John smile.   
  
 “Well, if it’s romance you want…”  
  
 “No, no – sex is what I want. As hot as possible.”  
  
 “So stick your finger up your fucking arse John, and get yourself ready for my big honking throbbing cock!”  
  
 John had a grin from ear to ear as he followed Paul’s obscene suggestion.  
  
 Paul’s voice lowered to a soft, sexy register. “Are you gently circling your rim, John? That’s what I would do if I were there. I would be using my cock.”  
  
 John felt a frisson of pleasure as, with his eyes closed and his finger gently rubbing his rim, he imagined Paul’s cock doing it instead.   
  
 About 15 minutes later, John came out of Gerry’s den, his sexual needs – for the first time since the last time in London –completely met. He had not been able to tell Paul that he loved him; the two of them never spoke to each other that way. John was beginning to feel that was one of the problems in their relationship, but he wasn’t yet brave enough to strike out in that direction.  
  
 He sat down on the big green couch, and picked up the proffered tumbler of hot coffee, took a sip, and then leaned back with a sigh as he swallowed it. Gerry and Jason, who had been having a desultory conversation as John came out of the den, were silent, and were both cautiously observing John as his head was thrown back and his eyes closed.  
  
 “How’d it go?” Jason finally asked.  
  
 John shook himself a little, and leaned forward and stared with manufactured fascination into his coffee cup. He let the dark liquid roll back and forward in his cup for a moment before he spoke. He was blunt.  
  
 “I just had the best phone sex ever.”  
  
 Jason and Gerry both laughed and John looked up at them and smiled warmly.   
  
 “So she was right there with you, was she?” Jason asked, his face a study in scrutiny. He was still wondering about that sexy (but most definitely masculine) voice. He was watching John’s body language for clues.  
  
 John felt like a fraud. He looked up at Jason, and his face was distraught. He didn’t want to lie to him anymore, but he didn’t have the strength to confess. Saying it aloud to another human being was too overpoweringly frightening.  
  
 Jason saw John’s expression. He decided to show mercy to John. “Who was that sexy man who left the message?” he asked, with seeming nonchalance.  
  
 John looked as though he had been punched in the stomach. He should have realized that once Paul called back, Jason would figure it all out. The labyrinth of lies he found himself in threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
 While John was musing, Gerry hissed at Jason in disapproval. He had told Jason not to probe like that. Still, Jason thought John had something he needed to say, and he wouldn’t be able to say anything unless he was pushed and prompted.  
  
 John sighed. “Sexy man?” John asked, as if he was confused, stalling for time and hoping for some kind of _deus ex machina_ to save him.  
  
 “Oh, God, yes. Sexiest voice I ever heard. I swear he could narrate porn movies.” Jason's expression was firm and expectant.  
  
 John laughed out loud. Jason might be a bit of a loose cannon, but he was a funny loose cannon, and having a great sense of humor mitigated a lot of other less positive personality traits in John’s opinion, and as a result John’s defenses came down.  
  
 “I know what you mean. I could listen to him reading names out of the fucking phone book for hours, and still not get bored,” John agreed, smiling warmly at Jason, and then winking at Gerry.  
  
 “So who is he?” Jason persisted.  
  
 There was a long, pregnant pause.  
  
 “My lover,” John admitted finally. He was looking into his coffee cup. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you; it is hard for me to talk about. Harder for me to trust.”  
  
 Gerry was glaring angrily at Jason; he was irked that Jason had pushed John so hard. But Jason moved over and sat next to John, putting his arm around John’s shoulders.  
  
 “You don’t need to explain that to us,” he said very softly. “Of all people, you don’t need to apologize about that to _us._ ”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's Always a Consequence/The Right Side Up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Individually, our heroes struggle with the duality of their new lives...

 Paul was alone, and he couldn’t find John. It was a crowded room, and everyone was staring at him with shock in their eyes. What was he missing? Something was terribly wrong. He was trying to get away from the people, but his feet were encased in concrete, and trying to move was impossible. It was very confusing, people were pointing now. It suddenly occurred to him that he was naked! He was naked, and everyone was pointing at him. Now he could hear John. John’s voice was echoing. Paul strained to hear his words.  
  
 “ _I don’t need you anymore… you’re never here for me…”_  
  
 “ _No! That’s not true_!” Paul was trying to shout, but no noise came out, and his feet were stuck. He felt exhaustion, fighting with all his might to chase after John’s disembodied voice. John was leaving him behind, and he couldn’t do or say anything to stop him.  
  
 “ _No! John! Wait_!” The words fell on deaf ears.  
  
 Something fell on him – a weight, on his legs. He jumped and cried out “ _no!_ ”  
  
 “ _Paul! Wake up! Paul!_ ” Linda’s voice suddenly interrupted Paul’s panic. Gradually Paul’s eyes opened and he felt Linda shaking his arms. Paul’s heart was racing, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. Gradually, Paul’s breathing started to even out.  
  
 “You were yelling out to John,” Linda told him. She didn’t look angry; she looked anxious. “What’s going on, Paul?  
  
 The nightmare had frightened Paul. It had touched upon his worst fear. Paul had once before let John go when it became clear that he would have to take a substantial risk in order to keep him. And here he was, doing it again. He was going to lose John again, because he was too afraid to take the risk of giving himself up to love. Linda was staring at him and he knew he had to tell her something, but his store of facile alibis and excuses had dried up for some reason.  
  
 His eyes must have shown his despair, because Linda mewed in distress. “Paul, tell me what is going on…you’re scaring me…” she whispered.  
  
 “You didn’t want to know about it. I can’t talk to you…”  
  
 “I’m sorry I said that. It was a mistake. You’re my friend as well as my husband. You should be able to tell me anything.”  
  
 Paul’s eyes were suspicious. He didn’t believe in Linda’s willingness to hear about his feelings for John. She may be worried and even curious, but he didn’t think she would really be able to accept what Paul had to say on the subject. She would be hurt by it, and it would change everything between them.  
  
 “Babe, it was just a bad dream. It was all mixed up and confusing. John was only one of the elements. Don’t worry so much.” Paul had pulled her under his arm, and he was whispering into her hair while his fingers traced comforting circles on Linda’s arm.  
  
 Linda knew she was being shined on. She knew he was withholding the truth, and while she was upset about it, she also knew that Paul didn’t have many options. If he told her his true feelings it would hurt her. If he told her nothing it would hurt her. The only thing he could do not to hurt her was to walk away from John, and Linda had started to believe that he would never ever be able to do that. But maybe John was ready to walk away from Paul? Is this when the picking up pieces started? She sighed deeply, but decided not to pry. This was a no win situation for both of them, and while dropping it was only delaying the inevitable longer, it was 3 a.m. and she didn’t have the emotional energy to have it out with Paul at that moment.  
  
 Paul knew that Linda had not believed his bromides, but he was relieved she had given up the inquiry for the time being. Paul was too bruised by his dream – and by his deep fear of losing John again. What on earth could he do? Paul’s dream had thrown up to his conscious mind the deep fear Paul had been hiding from himself for some time. John would only be willing to be an appendage in his life for a short period. John was not a patient man, and he would quickly decide he wasn’t getting enough. Paul worried about that moment – the moment when John basically told him, “Make a choice – me or your family.” He knew the moment would come, and what would he say?

*****

  
The next day, Paul was in a business meeting at lunchtime in a London restaurant. His manager was explaining to him yet again how there weren’t a lot of options left for Paul if he wanted to revive his music career.  
  
 “If you would tour behind the album, then maybe…”  
  
 “I can’t tour. Linda won’t go.”  
  
 “You can go without her.”  
  
 “Not on the table.”  
  
 It was another stalemate. Paul’s mind started to wander. He saw his manager’s mouth flapping, but suddenly Paul’s eye lighted upon a couple at a table a few yards away. Two men. Paul knew instantly they were a couple, even though they weren’t being obviously affectionate. What was it? The way they leaned in to each other? Was it the comfortable intimacy between them? Was it the knowing expressions on their faces that they had only for each other? They seemed totally at ease. Paul was envious. Here they were in front of god and everybody, openly adoring each other, and while others might judge them, they wouldn’t care. Why was he such a coward?

*****

  
That evening, Paul was in his music room, banging out chords. He had no framework to compose around. He was out of ideas – or, more to the point - out of ideas that would result in anything inspiring. Paul could hear a few of the kids fighting downstairs, and Linda trying to keep the peace. He thought about getting up, going downstairs, and joining his family. He couldn’t move. It was like his dream where he was unable to move. His hands were frozen on the piano keys, and, for one very brief moment, he was wrapped in the warmth and solace of John’s arms. At that moment Paul felt as though his heart would burst.  
  
 Paul played a few more chords, and then stopped. A random thought. A fugitive, unwelcome thought. John could have been there for _him,_ too. He could have agreed to work with him again – help him through this dry spell. But John was unwilling to be there for him. What did this mean? Would they always be falling short for each other? Would it always be thus? Why was it such a touchy subject for John that Paul wanted to work with him again? Paul didn’t understand it, never understood it, and probably never would understand it. What was John’s aversion based on?  
  
 For the first time, Paul began to wonder if John needed Paul to give something before John would be willing to reciprocate. Did John want unconditional surrender before he could work with him again? Paul didn’t like this thought. If it were true, it would mean that he would never work with John again unless he left his family. Was this the eventual end game?

*****

  
Paul had put off going to bed. He was afraid the dreams would come again. He stayed up as late as he could, waiting for Linda to fall asleep, and then quietly slipped in to bed next to her. She was not asleep.  
  
 “Paul, we need to talk,” he heard her say. Paul swore under his breath, and then prepared himself for what he knew was going to be a tricky and unpleasant conversation.  
  
 “What about? It’s late.” Paul responded.  
  
 “You’ve been distant and unconnected from all of us for two days now. Tell me what is going on. Are you and John having difficulties between you?”  
  
 Paul was angry. He was angry she was poking at him with an emotional stick. She didn’t want to know, but she wanted to know. She was okay with him having a secret affair, but she was not okay with it. He didn’t want to talk to her when he was angry, but mainly because he really didn’t deserve to be angry. He was the one who was cheating on her, after all! It was so fucking confusing. How was he supposed to live like this?  
  
 “Linda, I can’t talk to you about this. No, John and I aren’t having difficulties. It is just…hard…the whole thing is…hard.”  
  
 “Then why don’t you just stop it?” Linda asked.  
  
 See there! Paul had known it was a no-win trap! There was no easy way out for him.  
  
 “I don’t want to talk about John with you. And I won’t talk with John about you, either. It’s disloyal.”  
  
 “Paul, listen to yourself. The whole thing is disloyal! You’ve put yourself in a position where no matter what you do you’re hurting someone you love!”  
  
 Paul heard the words, and they fell on him like an indictment. But still, he had to say what was in his heart:  
  
 “I’m hurting myself more.”

*****

  
Linda was in the kitchen of their London home, and she was fixing lunch for the children. It was a weekend, and they were all lazing about the house engaged in their various pursuits. Paul was in his music room again, doing god knew what. Linda wanted to help him, but she didn’t know how. They had been together now for 13 years. In all those 13 years the only problems she had experienced in communicating with him concerned John Lennon. All those agonizing months after John had dramatically announced the end of the Beatles; all those terrible months where Linda’s father, brother and lawyers had pressured Paul to sue for a partnership dissolution, and Paul in despair, not wanting to sue his friends. All the months after the lawsuit – including that unspeakable time the other three Beatles climbed their wall and threw the brick through their window. Led by John, of course. All the horrible things John had said about Paul – to the press! For worldwide publication! She had tried to comfort Paul by saying it was all jealous lies, but Paul had quietly corrected her by saying they were not lies, only hurtful truths. “It’s worse than telling lies,” Paul had told her. “He’s telling truths he swore he would never tell.” The alcohol, the depression, the lack of belief in his own talent – all of that they had endured together. Yet still John could just pull a string and Paul would come running? Linda wiped away a few angry tears. She wanted to help her husband, but had no clue about how to go about it. What could she do or say that could possibly console him?

*****

  
_Maybe I should call John. Maybe I just need to hear his voice_. _Maybe these fears would vanish, and I will see that I’m just being a worrywart again._ Whatever the outcome, Paul needed to hear John’s voice, if only to remember why he was missing John so much.  
  
 Paul found the phone number John had given him for John’s neighbors at the Dakota. What on earth did those neighbors think was going on? Had John explained what was going on? Paul didn’t like that thought. Loose lips sink ships. It wouldn’t take much for the press to go crazy over tidbits like this – the possibility of a John and Paul reunion. Of course they would only be writing about their creative partnership. He and John could get caught fucking each other in the high street, and the press would still publish an innocent explanation for it. Still…what the press wrote and published was a lot different than the rumors they floated in their bars and pubs. Tearing down famous successful people was a kind of blood sport the press engaged in with a great deal of fervor, and even if their publishers wouldn’t let them write stuff that could get them sued, this didn’t mean the reporters weren’t laughing and joking about it amongst themselves at their various watering holes.  
  
 Paul knew he couldn’t call John from his house. He would have to wait until the next afternoon, and call the phone number from his business offices. Tomorrow seemed a long way off. Reluctantly, Paul closed up his music room and went to join his family. They were their usual uproarious selves. TV blaring, a loud radio from Heather’s room – thump, thump, thump. Stella grabbing her things away from James, James screaming like bloody hell, and Linda in the kitchen finishing up dinner, with Mary “helping”. Paul tried to plug into the rhythm of the household, but couldn’t help feeling apart from it all. He was watching and listening to it as if from afar. Truthfully, Paul was very afraid. Would this lost, empty, disconnected feeling ever go away?  
  
 He was beginning to believe he could have one life or the other, but that somehow he might not be able to manage both. Could he live without his family? Could he live without John? Paul had no answers, and feared that he would never have good answers. This meant that he would probably stick with the status quo, since making a huge change either way was far more disruptive and required a certain confidence in one’s choice.

*****

  
 Paul found it very difficult to fall asleep that night. He lay awake after making love to Linda. He held her in his arms and stared at the ceiling. The steady beat of her heart made him feel as though he was grounded, but his mind was craving the danger – the thrill – the intense spiritual excitement of being with John. Paul knew he should end the thing with John. That was the common sense, logical thing to do. But he also knew he would never be able to do it. Now that John wanted him back, there was no way Paul could walk away. Of course, there was always the chance that John would tire of him in favor of someone newer, brighter or shinier. It wouldn’t be the first time.  
  
 It was after 4 a.m. when Paul finally drifted into a restless, but thankfully dreamless, sleep.

 

*****

  
 John avoided Gerry and Jason for a few days. Part of him was embarrassed, but the main feeling was vulnerability. And John hated feeling vulnerable to others. He regretted telling Gerry and Jason that his lover was a man. They had all sorts of leverage over him now. But their telephone was his only conduit to Paul, and the fourth day after the confession, John received a message from Jason, that he should come up and taste some of his freshly homemade orange/cranberry muffins “before 11:30”. John had to overcome his pride and his embarrassment, and he made his way to Jason’s apartment. Jason opened the door, and without a word, pulled John in and immediately enveloped him in a loving hug. Jason whispered in John’s ear, “Please don’t be embarrassed. I know how it is to love someone you’re not supposed to love.”  
  
 John leaned back and observed Jason’s concerned face, and then he let his guard down a little and smiled. John couldn’t speak, but smiled and nodded. He then went to Gerry’s den (Gerry was at work), and called the magic  
number.  
  
 “John?” No one said his name like Paul did.  
  
 “Paul.” John’s voice said it all: relief, affection, and a sense of wonder.  
  
 “How’re you doing?”  
  
 “I don’t know. How ‘bout you?” It was not an idle question. John was expecting Paul to pull the rug out from under him at any time.  
  
 There was silence from Paul’s end. Then finally: “A bit disoriented.”  
  
 “Yeah, me too. I feel that too.”  
  
 “It shouldn’t feel so wrong, but it does.”  
  
 “We’re prisoners of our upbringing, Paul,” John said wearily.  
  
 “I wish it would go away,” Paul finally responded. He sighed heavily.  
  
 “We’re the only ones who can make it go away,” John responded softly. He heard a soft sound in apparent agreement.  
  
 “Something funny happened to me yesterday,” Paul said, his voice determinedly more cheerful.  
  
 “Oh?”  
  
 “Yeah, except no one else thought it was funny.” Silence. “You would have thought it was funny.”  
  
 John’s heart warmed at this compliment. He knew it to be a compliment because, he, too, often missed his partner in mischief, and often felt as though no one else got the humor in things that he felt were bone funny. “So tell me about it.”  
  
 Paul felt suddenly frustrated. How to explain it? It wasn’t words, and it wasn’t anything obviously funny. It was just the types of people talking, and the way they talked – the pompous, patronizing, presumptuous and fruity voices: like the suits of old in the Beatle years. He and John used to go to great efforts not to look at each other when the squares were bloviating. They would do everything in their power to look anywhere else. Later, when finally alone and reliving it, they would be rolling around on the ground, laughing to the point of crying.  
  
 Finally Paul said, “I wished you were there. I wouldn’t have had to explain it to you. You would just _know_.”  
  
 John’s heart warmed again at this even more touching compliment. “So, was it one of those uptight prigs with a suit bursting at the seams, rocking on his heels?”  
  
 Paul laughed. “Close enough.”  
  
 “Ah, baby. I miss you so much.” John just blurted it out, and then held his breathe. How would Paul react?  
  
 A long (15 seconds?) silence, and then golden words: “I miss you too, John. All the time.”  
  
 Some time later, John strolled out of Gerry’s den looking pensive. It was almost noon. Even so, and despite the early hour, Jason showed him a bottle of wine and a pair of raised eyebrows. John nodded slightly in the affirmative, and plopped down on his favorite spot in his favorite of the two green sofas. A moment later, he was presented with a glass of ruby red wine, and John knew it was no doubt the best of the best, and with one sip, he confirmed this opinion. He was silent. Lost in thought. He needed Paul in his life. It wasn’t just the sex, which was incredible. It was the companionship: the kind of relationship where almost all of the communicating was without words. No explanations; no justifications; no judging on either side. Sometimes hurt feelings, sometimes jealousy, envy and spite, and sometimes hair-raising shouting matches, but it was all easily remediable with just one _paroxsyme_ of helpless hilarity.  
  
 Little by little he began to notice that Jason was watching him with a guarded expression.  
  
 “If you want to talk about him, I’m a safe pair of ears,” Jason finally said, in a very soft and non-threatening voice.  
  
 John nodded absently, and, staring out the window to see the dark blank windows of the surrounding ring of high rises and the bright chasm of Central Park in the middle, he began to softly, slowly unburden himself.  
  
 “I love him so much.” The voice John used was almost a stranger’s voice. “I have such a longing in me. I literally _long_ to be in his company, it fucking hurts.” Two fat tears – one in each eye – made their way to the edges of his lower eyelids and, after briefly poising there, suddenly cascaded up and over the lower lids, and rolled inexorably down his cheeks. John didn’t even notice. He found it easier to talk now, because he felt like he was talking to himself, in an empty room. “I have no idea how we fucked everything up so much. Part of it was not our fault – the mores, the rules we had to follow. But not all of it; enough of it was my fault and his fault.” John took a sloppy sip of wine. The swallow went down hard, and it took a few moments for John to recover.  
  
 Jason was listening from the safety of his wingchair. Jason had turned off all the lights in the apartment, and Jason’s face was covered in darkness now. He believed John would only be able to talk to the anonymous, still, quiet shadows, so he did not move or speak.  
  
 John sighed hugely. It was as if he was sighing after not having sighed for about 10 years. And maybe he hadn’t, really. Maybe he hadn’t allowed himself that luxurious long exhale of stale breath.  
  
 “I didn’t see him – I didn’t really see _him_. I saw the ‘him’ I wanted him to be, and I didn’t want him to move out of that box. He was supposed to be the strong, silent one, and I was the crazy, over-the-top emotional one.”  
  
 Jason smiled to himself without making a sound. It sounded like Gerry and him. At times like these he wished he knew more about the Beatles’ history, and who their friends and associates were. It would have helped him fill in the blanks. But if he read all of this stuff now, it would feel weird, like he was spying on his friend. He discarded those errant thoughts, and focused again on John’s face, which now bore the evidence of tears.  
  
 John continued. “Problem was, he is a very emotional person. He has deep recesses of insecurity and emotion. He just does a brilliant job of hiding it, covering it up. I knew this, at some lizard-brain level, but I just kept pushing it away. I needed him to be the stable one, and damn it – he was going to be the stable one! I never let him be weak around me. If he acted the least bit weak, I would start to panic, and then do everything I could to prop him up. He would quickly realize that I didn’t want to hear about his fears, or his insecurities, or his doubts. And he would puff himself up and become – at least outwardly – secure and decisive again. Can you imagine what that must have cost him?” John’s question was a rhetorical one, shouted into the empty afternoon in a voice laden with bitter self-directed anger.  
  
 Jason felt a chill down his spine. This was above his head. He wasn’t a psychologist, and these deep, tortured feelings were beyond his knowledge. John’s well of pain was much deeper than anything he had ever experienced. He had been arrogant to think he could walk John through these feelings. He began to worry that he had started something he could not help John finish.  
  
 John was still musing. “He has forgiven me.” His voice sounded unbelieving – wondering. “He really has forgiven me. I don’t know why or how. He is so – so” … John searched for a word big enough, wide enough, deep enough to describe what he meant, but came up empty… ”Non-judgmental.” It sounded so plebeian, but what he meant was so far from that. To John it seemed like a wondrous, magical, make-believe kind of thing.  
“I could never forgive him if he had done to me what I had done  
to him,” John finally whispered. He was silent for a good two or three minutes.  
  
 Jason held his breath. He felt less afraid. John seemed to be talking himself out of his despair.  
  
 John gently smiled as he recalled Paul’s wistful comments about their combined sense of humor. “He is the funniest person I know,” John said in a normal tone of voice. He looked up and searched out Jason in the shadows of the room. Jason leaned forward and smiled so that John could see him. “He is fucking hilarious, even when he’s not trying to be. _Especially_ when he’s not trying to be,” John said, laughing.  
  
 Jason was glad to see John smiling and chuckling.  
  
 “Not haha funny,” John added, “it is situational. It is ad lib, on the spot. And usually he has the oddest way of looking at things. Everyone else goes right, and he goes left. But the rest of us get where we were going, and he’s already standing there, leaning against the wall looking at his watch. You know – ‘what took you so long?’” John laughed, and Jason did too.  
  
 A silence fell over them, and Jason finally ventured a question. “So, this paragon, doesn’t he have any faults?”  
  
 John snorted. “How much time do you have?” Jason smiled but nodded for John to expand on the comment.  
  
 “He’s fucking over-confident at times, bossy, perfectionist. He gets headstrong when people disagree with him, and stops listening to his friends’ advice. He can be moody and uncommunicative. He goes off into these private zones – his own fucking planet. You feel so left out. You want to be there. He can be cold and dismissive. I figured it out, though. He does that to protect himself. He is emotionally vulnerable. I didn’t appreciate that enough when we were together. I should have seen it. A fool could see it. I guess that makes me worse than a fool.”  
  
 Jason wanted the less angst-ridden John, so he asked another question. “So tell me about him. Just tell me why you love him so much. Many years have gone by. There is a whole world of other people you could love. Why him, and only him?” This, in fact, was the question he had been dying to ask John about “his one true love” – male or female - for months. His lack of understanding of John’s life in the ‘60s added to his confusion.  
  
 John was surprised by the question, but also intrigued. He wanted to answer the question, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to. “Well, he is frighteningly talented, Jason,” John said. “He is like creativity personified. I mean if creation could be a person, it would be like him. He sometimes has shockingly bad judgment about what he creates, but I think it is because he can’t tell the difference. It all comes from the same fountain. He needs an editor, you know?”  
  
 “Is that what you were, John?” Jason asked gently.  
  
 “Yes,” John responded without pondering. “And he wasn’t like me. He was okay with me saying shit like ‘that sucks’. He wouldn’t take it personally. He would be like, ‘Really? How? What should I do?’ He really trusted my opinion, my judgment, and he had no ego about it.” John stopped. He was suddenly flooded with a fear that he had gone too far, and he might have inadvertently revealed his lover’s identity. He could not do that to Paul. After all the petty insults and unforgivable betrayals he could not do that to Paul. He looked uncertainly at Jason, but he didn’t seem to have the alert look on his face that John would expect if his audience had figured out he was talking about his famous former songwriting partner.  
  
 “What kind of artist is he?” Jason asked, revealing that he had not immediately assumed he was talking about Paul. John felt very relieved. He decided to obfuscate to protect Paul.  
  
 “Sculptor.” John said immediately, and he didn’t feel even a stitch of guilt over the lie.  
  
 “That makes sense,” Jason said, “I can see you in love with a sculptor. What else? What makes him so special?”  
  
 “I told you about some of it. His sense of humor is the same as mine, only subtler, more subversive. People thought I was a troublemaker, but so many times he would be egging me on. He was the brain behind my bluster. Somehow he always came out smelling like a rose, and I’d be in the doghouse.” John laughed, and his uncomplicated pleasure at the memories made Jason smile too. “I wouldn’t get mad, because then he would talk me out of trouble, too. I swear he can talk the fucking birds out of the fucking trees. I’ve seen him sweet-talk cops and businessmen and all kinds of women and men. He just dazzles them with his sparkling bullshit.”  
  
 Jason laughed out loud.  
  
  
 “I told you about the first time we had sex. You thought he was a woman, though. We had been friends for four years, and I suddenly propositioned him, and as cool as a cucumber he said, ‘I knew you fancied me, like girls do.’ I wanted to fucking throttle him!” John laughed, basking in the memory, even as he also remembered how afraid he had been until Paul had capitulated to his entreaties. Jason remembered the story. He also remembered how much he admired the ‘woman’ who had cracked to John, in the dark, ‘I thought you wanted to jump my bones.’ Knowing it was at least a nominally straight man that had said it, Jason realized suddenly how special that man must be. No wonder John had it so bad. Unfortunately, Jason saw real trouble ahead. He wouldn’t be a friend to John if he didn’t say something.  
  
 Jason cleared his throat. “It’s a hard thing for a gay man to be in love with a straight man. You say he is married with a family?”  
  
 John’s face darkened. “Yeah. Seemingly hundreds of children.”  
  
 Jason now understood John’s desperation. “Most gay men have that straight man who got away in their past,” he said gently. “Sometimes they had sex with them, or even an affair. But the thing is, in the end, they always revert to type.”  
  
 John’s head jerked up. “What does that mean?”  
  
 Jason took a deep breath and went on, feeling as though it had to be said. “It’s one thing for a man who prefers women to experiment, and even have an affair with a man. But it’s another thing for him to walk away from his straight life. The wife, the kids, the social acceptance, his close relatives and friends…I’ve known a few men who have left their wives and children for a man, and then – after a short while – regretted it. Some of them even decamped to their previous straight lives. It is a very hard thing – to give up a lifetime of brainwashing, which is what heterosexual biases amount to in some cases – and to move into the unforgiving world that Gerry and I live in.”  
   
 John looked at Jason with stricken eyes. “So what are you saying?”  
  
 Jason took a deep breath. “Maybe the best you can hope for with this man is stolen minutes and hours, and maybe you need to find a way to be satisfied with that. Otherwise, maybe you need to accept that maybe you are a gay man, and maybe you should find another gay man to love you back the way you need.”  
  
 John was taken aback. _I’m not gay_ , he thought to himself. But he didn’t say it aloud. Maybe he was. Maybe that was why he had never been able to maintain a truly close relationship with a woman for very long. Maybe that was why he saw women as sexual objects or mother figures, and couldn’t form real and equal friendships with them. As long as they expected him to be sexually attracted to them, perhaps he resented that, and could not be comfortable with them? He had always assumed he was a bi-curious kind of person, who mainly was attracted to women. But was he kidding himself? He had never had sex with any other man – other than Brian tossing him off that one time which, really, he hadn’t really enjoyed. He was only doing the poor sod a favor. Yet he had had sex with so many women he had lost count. Still, the only lover he’d had that ever really mattered was a man, and – it had to be said - he had always had a fascination with the subject of homosexuality. Had he been lying to himself all these years? Slowly, he came back to the here and now and saw Jason’s empathetic eyes boring holes in to his.  
  
 “You think I’m gay?” John whispered.  
  
 Jason felt terrible, but he felt he wouldn’t be John’s friend if he didn’t answer honestly. “Yes.”  
  
 John nodded, taking it in manfully. “I have a lot to think about,” he finally said. “I appreciate your honesty. And I appreciate your listening to me. Please, don’t tell anyone.”  
  
 “I will have to tell Gerry. I don’t keep secrets from him.”  
  
 “Oh, yeah, Gerry’s okay.”  
  
 John accepted Jason’s hug in an absent-minded haze. He knew, as he made his way back to his apartment, that he had a lot of hard thinking to do. Right then he felt as though his world was turned upside down. But what if, instead, it was finally – after forty years – the right side up?


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re Gonna Say You Love Me Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some will say this contains an extreme sex scene, but I prefer to call it an intense love scene.

 A few weeks went by, and Paul’s trip to New York was imminent. John was all a flutter. He hadn’t been back to Gerry and Jason’s since his revelatory afternoon with Jason, but he had thought a great deal about what he had learned about himself that night. He now had a lot to discuss with Paul; John hoped he would be able to resist the sexual urges long enough to actually have a meaningful conversation with him.  
  
 The plan was that John would sneak out at 2 p.m. and meet Paul at a discreet hotel, located in the out-of-the-way Murray Hill neighborhood, not that far from the Chrysler Building. Inside, it was extremely luxurious, but despite a subtle, almost non-descript brownstone exterior it catered to a famously wealthy but discreet clientele largely because it was not yet on the paparazzi roadmap. Paul, who had arrived in New York late the previous day with his wife and children, was staying in a hotel close to the apartment of his brother- and sister-in-law, John and Jody Eastman. Paul explained to Linda that he had a business meeting and would be gone for a few hours. Linda didn’t ask any questions, and since it was the middle of the afternoon, she didn’t have the qualms she might have had if he had left late in the evening.  
  
 John got there first, and for a few moments he was filled with the usual anxiety. Maybe Paul would stand him up? But he didn’t have to wait long before he heard the key in the lock, and Paul was there. His black hair was windblown, and he was wearing a dark navy blue overcoat which made his skin look even more ivory colored than it usually did. Paul’s eyes sparkled when he saw John, and he offered up a brightly wrapped present.  
  
 John’s eyes skipped with delight. He hugged Paul ferociously, and then quickly grabbed the gift and tore it open, much to Paul’s amusement. “You’re so impatient, like a child,” Paul said as he laughed.  
  
 The present was a 7”x 9” rectangle. It was a drawing on canvas, in charcoal and India ink. A young face stared straight ahead at the artist. The subject’s imperious nose angled arrogantly up in the air, and his eyes were an impudent, almost contemptuous glare in the raw, handsome face. It was the 1962 Cavern Club John Lennon, and John loved the drawing. Then he saw in the corner the scribbled signature of Paul McCartney.  
  
 “You did this?” He asked in wonderment.  
  
 Paul laughed and said, “Can’t you tell? The perspective is off.”  
  
 “No, the perspective is perfect!” John defended, hugging the drawing to his chest protectively.  
  
 Paul smiled warmly. “I’m glad you like it.”  
  
 John cocked his head sideways and looked at Paul’s face studiously. “You look tired.”  
  
 “I am, a bit. Working hard, jet lag, and traveling with a bunch of kids…” He chuckled and rubbed his eyes.  
  
 John hustled Paul out of his overcoat and over to the sofa, and then brought him a tumbler of whiskey. He sat next to Paul, moving in close, and pulling his legs up under him. His arm went around Paul’s shoulders, and he leaned in closely. Paul had observed all of this nurturing behavior with bemused surprise.  
  
 “I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” John said to him softly.  
  
 “ _Talk_ to me? I thought you would have me spread-eagled on the bed by now,” Paul laughed, his eyes dancing with mischief.  
  
 “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find yourself there before too long, but I really need to talk to you. Are you up to it?”  
  
 Paul’s eyes looked wary. “Yes…” he said, his voice echoing with doubt. He took a healthy sip of his whiskey, and leveled his huge hazel eyes on John’s face, a question mark so latently there that it might as well have been literally there.  
  
 “I’ve had a lot to think about in the last two months,” John began, referencing the time between their last meeting in London and that particular night. “I have acknowledged some truths about myself.”  
  
 Paul’s face was still uncertain, but he was listening intently.  
  
 “I don’t want you to respond to what I say just yet. I just want to talk for a while until I get out what I need to say,” John instructed in a bossy tone.  
  
 Paul’s beautiful eyes warmed in amusement, and he nodded, slightly, in tacit agreement to this restriction.    
  
 “I see now, finally, so many things I did wrong before – how I contributed to our break up. You were there for me when I needed you, but I wasn’t often there when you needed me. I know you were dog paddling by 1968, just barely keeping your head above water, and I was oblivious. I’m so sorry, Paul, I was not a good friend to you.”  
  
 Paul opened his mouth to respond, and John held up his hand: “Not yet!” Paul subsided. John started again.  
  
 “Also, I didn’t know then something important about myself. I didn’t know that I was – well, gay.”  
  
 Paul’s eyes popped out of his head, and his mouth fell open, but he quickly shut his mouth and stilled his expressive face. John smiled affectionately at the reaction.  
  
 “I know,” he said, meeting Paul’s now studiously blank eyes, “it is not easy for me to say that. But I believe it to be true.” John saw the skepticism in Paul’s eyes. “Ok, you can talk for a minute. What in bloody hell are you thinking?” John asked, in his best rough Liverpudlian drawl.  
  
 “I saw you doing it with I don’t know how many women, John. And so I don’t think you are gay.”  
  
 “I was too afraid to be gay, Paul, I was too afraid to be an outcast.” John said steadily, meeting Paul’s eyes evenly. “I could be sexually satisfied by our relationship, and when we couldn’t be together, having sex with women was better than no sex at all. Gay men can have sex with women, you know. We’re not all completely useless in that department.”  
  
 Paul looked startled that John had so easily included himself in the “gay men” category.  
  
 “Do you think I am gay, too?” Paul asked suspiciously.  
  
 John laughed with genuine amusement. “No, Paul, you’re not gay. If you’d never met me, you probably would never have ventured into a homosexual relationship, if only from a lack of basic curiosity on the subject. I dragged you into it under protest, if you remember.”  
  
 “I didn’t protest all that hard, John,” Paul pointed out honestly. “I think my resistance wore off the moment you first touched my dick.”  
  
 John laughed heartily and gave Paul a warm, spontaneous hug, and followed it up with a succinct smack on Paul’s plump pink mouth. “Still, no, I doubt you’re gay. Probably you’re bisexual – at least, you always seemed ready to fuck anything that moved back in the ‘60s. None of us could keep track. But, as far as I’m concerned, I believe I am a gay man who has spent 40 years of his life pretending to be straight.”  
  
 The agonized look that characterized Paul in Confusion was on his face: the eyebrows beetled and leaning toward each other, the channel in the space between the two eyebrows, the squinting eyes and the crinkled nose - Paul in all his painfully confused glory. John soldiered on.  
  
 “Anyway, nothing I can do about that now, is there?” It was another rhetorical question, and Paul knew it, and kept silent. “Going forward, I’m not sure there is anything I can do about it either. I’m kind of in a trap of my own making. I know what I want…” John stopped and stole a quick glance at Paul, whose Paul in Confusion face had softened to a deeply empathetic expression. He always knew when to shut up and just listen, without judging. It was one of John’s favorite things about him.  
  
 “So I know what I want…I want to live with you.” John had said it. There was a dead silence. John watched Paul’s face, and saw the fear there and sighed heavily. “But I know I can’t have that. I know you cannot live without your family.” John thought he saw relief breeze quickly across the beloved features before it disappeared again. “There would be hell to pay, anyway,” John acknowledged. “Can you imagine? John’nPaul of the Fab Four – living together in sin? Good lord, the world might just come to a screeching halt.” He smiled bravely, and Paul mirrored the smile with a slightly less emphatic one.  
  
 “I have to accept that the most I can expect out of life now is to live the life I chose with as much grace as possible, and then to have whatever stolen minutes and hours that I can with you.” John was channeling Jason’s eloquent words.  
  
 Paul’s eyes had somehow filled with tears suddenly. John was touched by this unusual show of emotion.  
  
 “Can I talk now, John?” Paul asked softly. John nodded in assent. Paul stopped for a while, to gather himself. “I don’t know if you’re gay or straight, I can’t see that it makes any difference. Maybe it is hard for me to understand why a bloke wouldn’t want to have sex with a woman, but then I have to say having sex with the right man has its own attractions.” Paul’s left hand had found the buttons on John’s shirt, and he was playing with them. He wasn’t unbuttoning them; he was just playing with them in an absent-minded way, and his eyes were watching his fingers just as absently.  
  
 Smiling gently, John reached up and held Paul’s restless fingers. He pulled the hand up to his mouth, and kissed each finger while Paul’s huge hungry eyes watched.  
  
 “Maybe if I’d never met Linda, maybe if I’d never had children, maybe then I would have found the courage to live with you, John. But I’m afraid I’d be too much of a coward. I cringe just thinking about what my own family would have to say about it, much less the rest of the bleeding world.” He shrugged. “But I want you in my life, too, and if you’re willing to continue on in the way we are now, I’m willing too.”  
  
 John sighed in relief and regret at the same time. He’d made his decision. He’d rather have bits and pieces of Paul’s time than have no time with him at all. No one else could take his place, and there was no point in even attempting any longer to fill that spot. Apparently, Paul loved him at least enough to spare stolen minutes and hours with him, and given Paul’s strong devotion to his family, John understood that this was a huge compromise for him.  
  
 The silence was pregnant with unspoken fears and regrets until Paul suddenly said loudly and cheerfully, “So are we gonna fuck or what?” John jumped up, grabbed Paul’s arm, dragged him unceremoniously into the bedroom, and shoved him with both hands on to the bed.  
  
 “You’re not spread-eagled yet, you poufter!” He declared in a ridiculous Nazi officer voice.  
  
 Paul was laughing throughout this manhandling, and apparently willing to play along, although not with a sufficient amount of subservience in John’s opinion. To remedy this, Paul played the role. “You have to _make_ me, you mean man,” Paul fluted in a fruity falsetto.   
  
 John couldn’t take it seriously, and fell to his knees in a fit of giggles. He finally was able to speak, “Can’t you do a better job of looking afraid?” He demanded.  
  
 “Do you want me blubbering, or will a stricken silence be sufficient?” Paul asked, with a suddenly adopted fraudulent nonchalance, like an actor asking a director for input.  
  
 “Fuck you, Macca,” John managed in between giggles.  
  
 “Exactly. That’s what I’m waiting for, you sloth.” Now they were both laughing.    
  
 John managed to get up off his knees and crawled up from the foot of the bed, with one arm on either side of Paul’s shoulders. He hovered over Paul for a few intense moments as the amusement on Paul’s face was slowly replaced with an expectant wonder. John’s face moved in slowly, and Paul’s eyes didn’t even blink, because they were utterly captured by John’s. Their mouths met, and the first kiss was almost holy in its sacred intent. Soon, their breathing was halting and loud, and the kisses were ever deeper, ever greedier, and ever more sinfully unrepentant.  
  
 Finally he had a submissive Paul under him, but John became very shy. He honestly didn’t know what to do next. Impatient and horny, Paul took charge, as Paul was wont to do. With a masterful flip, John was now on the bottom, and Paul was stripping off his clothing and starting on John’s. Each touch, each removal of an item of clothing caused John to gasp. His cock was huge, fully engorged. Nothing got him harder faster than a horny Paul McCartney in action.  
  
 The sex was intense, fiery and unrelenting. Neither man had a single intelligible thought for the next fifteen minutes. Paul was as deep inside John as he could manage, and they were rutting like animals rolling in mud. The noises they made were guttural and primordial. John was biting Paul; he was literally covering him with love bites, all over his neck, shoulders and even around his nipples. He had lost control of himself, and never did he think about his promise not to leave bruises and marks on Paul that could be found by Linda. And Paul was oblivious. He was out of his mind with passion. He had never allowed himself to surrender so completely to his basest animal instincts with John before, and it was beyond his power to stop until the exorcism had run its course.  
  
 Paul began to work John’s cock with steady rhythmic pulls, as if he were operating a joystick. And in a way he was, because he knew instantly when John’s joy overflowed, leaving a sticky pool of fluid on John’s lower tummy. Paul was excited by John’s excitement, and finally felt it coming: “it” was a virtual tsunami, and Paul quickly and almost belatedly withdrew from John as he rode the waves of an ever-increasing and never-ending orgasm. John saw Paul’s head thrown back, his mouth was wide open and his neck exposed as Paul’s sticky fluid landed on John’s stomach. Paul made no sound. He was in the throes of a very strong physical and emotional tumult. Then his head dropped down, his chin to his chest, and his arms seemed to lose their strength, and he sank down on to John’s chest. His face found an opening at the nape of John’s neck, and the two men felt each other’s racing hearts gradually slowing to a slower, more peaceful pace.  
  
 John felt Paul’s breathing on his neck, and he hugged his lover tightly around his back. He nuzzled Paul’s neck, and he made soothing sounds in Paul’s ear. It wasn’t until it was out of his mouth that John had realized what he had whispered:  
  
 “I love you.”  
  
 John was mortified, and was wishing he could take it back. He was afraid to expose himself so completely. He was afraid of rejection. But, after a few moments John realized that Paul hadn’t jumped away in shock or pulled away in embarrassment. Instead, he felt Paul’s hands moving to his upper arms, and squeezing them tightly. He then watched as Paul lifted his head and their eyes met. There was a lazy, sexually spent look on Paul’s face, but his eyes were two black coals of shimmering heat.  
  
 “I love you too.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, and some humor, to contrast with the angst of late.

 John had managed to slip the visit past Yoko, but Paul knew that he had hell to pay. It was after he and John had showered that Paul noticed all the bite marks on his neck, shoulder – and worst of all – around his nipples. He had been quite ticked with John, but John had appeared to be just as surprised by the bite marks as Paul was, and was extremely apologetic. Paul was panic-stricken, because he knew there was no way to hide the marks, and they couldn’t have been more incriminating, unless they had been full hand bruises on his ass. He had promised Linda there would be no evidence – that his affair with John would be invisible to her.  
  
 It was with a heavily thudding heart that he made his way back to his family’s hotel suite, and he managed to sport a sickly smile all the way through dinner, and while playing with the kids before they went to bed. Paul decided maybe he could pretend not to be tired, and then sneak into bed in full on pajamas after Linda fell asleep. Then he could wake up really early and…  
  
 “Paul?”  
  
 Paul jerked at the sound of his name and looked up to see Linda, clearly naked under her filmy lingerie, leaning suggestively against the doorjamb. Oh shit. First of all, John had pumped every ounce of semen out of him only eight hours earlier, and though he was sure he could get his cock to cooperate, there was no way Linda wouldn’t expect him to strip off all of his clothes. Paul actually was a bit of a nature boy; he liked being naked, and had little self-consciousness about it, and no one understood this quite so well as Linda did. And John of course. John knew too. Oh well, there was nothing for it. He would have to undress in the dark, and keep the lights off. Then he would wake up really early and…  
  
 Linda had sashayed over and, grabbing his hand, pulled him into the bedroom. “Do you want me to undress you?” She asked him with a naughty smile.  
  
 Yes, Paul thought longingly, I really do want you to undress me, but unfortunately not tonight… Paul said “No! I’m gonna undress you!” and Linda giggled. As he leaned over to get busy, he snapped off the lamp and it was pitch black.  
  
 “Paul?” Linda’s soft voice echoed in the dark.  
  
 “Yes, luv?” Paul asked as he stripped off his clothes, and then turned to get started on her.  
  
 “Let’s do it with at least one light on. I want to see your face.”  
  
  _Crap_! Did she already know he was covered with John’s love bites? Was she doing this to torture him? Paul’s agile mind was whizzing fast to come up with a plausible excuse. He’d always been good at coming up with – on the spot - clever alibis.  
  
 “We could, baby, but what I was thinking was - you know how it was in Scotland when we first lived there? When we turned off the lights it was pitch black, and it was so fucking sexy…”  
  
 Linda moaned with the memory, and pulled Paul’s head down to hers, and Paul was happy to oblige with a deep, long kiss. Linda was sighing, and it was clear that she was more than willing to go along with Paul’s hastily invented fantasy.  
  
  _Phew_. _That was close. This affair with John is gonna be the death of me, for sure_.  
  
 It all would have been fine, but for the fact that when Paul snuck up early in the morning leaving Linda blissed out on the bed, and got a look at his shoulders, neck and chest, it was worse than it had been the night before. Now he was covered with red and brown bruises in the unmistakable shape of teeth and lips. _Fuck!_ He quickly showered and threw some clothes on – a turtleneck to hide the neck – and hoped that by the nighttime they would have faded. But in his heart he knew that he could not hide the evidence from Linda. It was too obvious, too all over him, and he couldn’t keep her in the pitch black or cover up his chest for the week or so it would take for all the bites and bruises to disappear. He was done for.  
  
 He dragged his way through the day, and as bedtime approached, Paul snatched Linda’s arm and pulled her down on to the sofa next to him, cuddling her with his arm. She was right in the mood – great thing about Linda – her sex drive was up to his, which couldn’t be said about all the women he’d had relationships with. She laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled with him, and they watched the flames snapping in the fireplace in a cozy silence for several minutes. Finally, Paul summoned up his nerve.  
  
 “Lin, there’s something I want you to see.” He finally said, softly. She lifted her head and looked at him, eyebrows cocked but with an amused look on her face.  
  
 “What have you done now?” She giggled.  
  
 Paul sighed heavily, and letting Linda go for a moment, lifted up the edges of his sweater and pulled it off. At first Linda thought he was going to fuck her right there on the sofa when any of the kids could walk in, but then she saw – her eyes focused in fascination.  
  
 “Good lord, Paul, how many _are_ there?” She was counting them in awe – there were at least 14 or 15. She looked up at him with a mischievous smile. “Did I do that to you last night?” She looked – yes, Paul realized – she looked titillated and delighted!  
  
  _There is a God!_  
  
 Paul just smiled shyly in response, not correcting her, but not agreeing with her either. Linda blushed a little.  
  
 “I was pretty high; I know I went wild, but I had no idea!” She giggled. “I’m sorry Paul. Do they hurt?”  
  
 Paul smiled in a deprecating way, and shook his head ‘no’, and Linda met his eyes and said, “You want seconds?” Paul laughed and, feeling like a man who had been freed from the guillotine at the last possible moment, allowed himself to be dragged to the bedroom, and this time Linda took his clothes off, and they had sex with the lights on.  
  
 Of course, the next day and for many days afterward he had to deal with the fact that now his _entire_ body, even his inner thighs, was covered with over 30 love bites, hickeys and bruises. Linda teased him about them endlessly.  
  
  _Small price to pay,_ Paul thought, whistling cheerfully _. There must be something to this ‘luck of the Irish’ thing._

*****

  
 It wasn’t until after the second secret assignation at yet another discreet hotel in New York, that John began to feel that 2 to 4 hour meetings in the middle of the afternoon in anonymous surroundings once every two to three months were not going to be enough to sustain his relationship with Paul over the long term. He actually worried that Paul was getting a bit too comfortable with the routine, and that perhaps he – John – was again far more invested in their sexual relationship than Paul was. John knew this equation would be reversed if they were talking about their previous creative partnership. Paul would have moved heaven and earth to keep that going, and even now would make many more sacrifices to regain that place of creative nirvana than John would. It was one of the perversities of life. John needed Paul mainly for emotional and sexual reasons, and Paul needed John mainly for their friendship and creative partnership. They somehow had managed to meet each other’s most basic needs somewhere vaguely in the middle, but it was again proving extremely hard to make that work well for each of them over the long haul.  
  
 Thinking about it honestly, John realized that unless he was willing to consider working with Paul again – broaching that sensitive subject – he might always just be a secret sex object in Paul’s life. But to work with Paul again meant dealing with Yoko’s stranglehold on his life. John remembered how he had raged out of control in the early ‘70s when he was cut adrift from both Yoko and Paul. He had no confidence that his reaction to being a free agent at this point in his life would end any better than that. It was a classic what-comes-first-chicken-or-egg problem.  
  
 It was deep in the afternoon on a rainy day, and Paul was still in the bed, sleeping off the strenuous sex as John sat in the adjacent and darkening sitting room of the suite. John was smoking, and he had poured himself some whiskey. It was a few more minutes before he heard Paul stirring, and then could vaguely see the outline of Paul sitting up in the bed.  
  
 “John? Are you still here?” Paul asked, a bit anxious, but sleep was still clinging to the edges of his voice.  
  
 “I’m in here, having a smoke,” John responded. He watched as Paul extracted himself from the twisted sheets and walked towards him stark naked. Paul had very little shyness about his naked body. John smiled to himself. _If I had Paul’s body, I wouldn’t be shy about it either._ John had wrapped himself in the hotel bathrobe. But Paul, in all his glory, sat next to John, unselfconscious and with his hair sticking out in every direction. Apparently, John had gotten a little of the leftover lube in Paul’s hair when he was raking his fingers through it. Paul snuggled in a little.  
  
 “You okay?” he asked softly. Unlike some people, Paul actually always wanted to know the answer to that question when he asked it. He was searching John’s shadowed face for the answer.  
  
 “I need more.” John heard his words softly echoing in the room, yet still wasn’t sure he had actually said it out loud. He looked over to Paul and saw the empathy in the darkling eyes.  
  
 “What do you need more of, John?” Paul asked softly.  
  
 “The hotels, the stolen hours. It just feels tawdry. Isn’t there any way we can normalize this a little so I don’t feel so much like a high priced call girl?” John made a face, trying to use humor to hide his fear.  
  
 Paul thought about making a joke, with the intent to deflect the inevitable conversation. A couple of jokes even occurred to him, and hovered on the tip of his tongue. Even just a few years ago, he would have gone there without even thinking first. But now, something in him that was more compassionate, more mature, caused him to push that strategy away.  
  
 “Whatever you need, John. Just tell me.”  
  
 “I want us to have our own place. And I need you to be available for more than one day at a time, even if it is just parts of two or three days in a row.” John was surprised about how exact his requirements were. He had apparently developed this list without even consulting his conscious mind.  
  
 Paul digested this in deep silence. John was holding his breath as he awaited a response. Finally –  
  
 “Okay. I’ll make that happen.” Paul’s voice was calm and confident; it was ‘businessman’ Paul who was talking. “It’ll take me some weeks. Maybe next time we meet, we will have our own place.”  
  
 John let out his withheld breath in a huge, loud gust, and then almost choked at the end of it. He smiled sheepishly and then saw the most loving and affectionate expression on Paul’s face.  
  
 “Did you really think I would say ‘no’, Johnny?” he asked, running his finger across John’s lips.  
  
 John’s eyes were blurry with tears, and his emotions threatened to overcome him. Words were actually useless at times like these. So many ways that they could trip you up, by coming out wrong, or sending out unintended messages. So John just let his forehead fall against Paul’s, and, with the sweetest possible tone said,  
  
 “ _Ta, Pud_.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories On Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So: What was it like when John and Paul were alone together, and they weren’t having sex? Let’s see now…

 “John, what the hell is a star anise when it’s at home?” Paul was staring doubtfully at a recipe.  
  
 “Fuck if I know.”  
  
 “But you’re the one who’s been house husbanding for years! I read all about it in _Rolling Stone_ , so it must be true.”  
  
 “So I made bread a few times.”  
  
 John and Paul were in the kitchen area of their new Manhattan loft apartment, located conveniently across the park and within walking distance of the Dakota. John was chopping onions, and the fumes were beginning to get to him.  
  
 Paul looked up from the cookbook. “ _Bread_?” Paul’s voice was incredulous. “ _That’s it_? That’s the full extent of your cooking skills? We’re fucked. If Linda were here…”  
  
 “Stop throwing your other wife at me. You know how I hate that.”  
  
 Paul chuckled. “Well, they’re _your_ friends, John. I was thinking you might not want to poison them.”  
  
 It had been John’s great idea for the two of them to actually cook a meal for their dinner guests. Paul had been dubious about it from the beginning.  
  
 “It’s only spaghetti marinara for Christ’s sake, Paul! I’m chopping, and you’re cooking.”  
  
 “I don’t recall getting a vote on that. Just like when you and Brian decided that your name should go first on our song credits.”  
  
 “Again with the song credits? Honestly, Paul, drop that cross.”  
  
 Paul snickered. “I never said I could cook, John. But I _could_ write songs. Anyway, I hope this star anise thingie isn’t a key part of the recipe, because we don’t have any.”  
  
 John muttered impatiently to himself as Paul gathered the ingredients for the sauce, and began, tentatively, to follow the instructions. Silence reigned for a good three or four minutes.  
  
 “Now, who are these people again?” Paul asked for what seemed to John like the twentieth time.  
  
 “Friends of mine from the Dakota.”  
  
 “What makes them so special? I thought you wanted us never to see anyone else when we’re together.”  
  
 “Paul, we’d have hell to pay if it got out about us, you know that,” John pointed out, for the twentieth time. Unspoken was John’s fear of people even finding out they were _friends_ again, because he didn’t want everyone to start the “working together again” rumors. John’s ego was not up to opening _that_ can of worms.  
  
 “So why do you trust _them_? I guess that’s what I’m really asking.” Paul was facing John now, while only occasionally stirring the sauce. His face showed genuine curiosity.  
  
 “If it weren’t for them, we’d never have gotten back together.” John had never told Paul the story of the Wednesday Evening Salons. He took a quick glance up and noted that Paul’s face was now alive with curiosity. _Damn_! Paul was like a cat with a ball of yarn when he was curious.  
Paul’s left eyebrow was quirked. John was fluent in the language of Paul’s talkative eyebrows. Sometimes he had entire conversations with them. The quirked left eyebrow meant that Paul expected an explanation, and he wasn’t going to ask for it. John sighed heavily.  
  
 “If you haven’t figured it out after our visit with them tonight, _then_ I’ll explain it to you. All you really need to know right now is that they are my closest friends, and I love them dearly, and they helped me save myself from the emotional prison I was in.”  
   
 Paul took it all in, eyes wide, mouth inadvertently open toa small “o” shape. He then nodded his head, and turned back to the sauce, while John dropped the noodles into boiling water. John noticed this and smiled to himself. This was one of the things he most loved about Paul. He knew when to shut up and mind his own business.  
  
 After draining the noodles, John announced he was going to get cleaned up, and Paul watched him leave the room as he fussed with the sauce. John was still painfully thin. Paul had tried to talk to John about it, but John had always been very self-conscious about his weight, and skillfully deflected the conversation. John had once told Paul that he felt like an elephant next to him. Paul also remembered how John had covered himself up in layers when they were in Miami during the Beatles’ first American trip. When John started losing all that weight in the late ‘60s, it was done – Paul thought – by adopting some pretty unhealthy eating habits. Linda had wondered out loud if John was binging and spewing. Paul had immediately rejected that suggestion - not because he thought it was inaccurate, but reflexively, because it was unthinkable.  
  
 During the first few times he and John had made love the previous December, Paul had noticed John’s boniness, and had told him fondly, “You need to gain weight, luv. I haven’t got enough to grab on to.” But John had just laughed it off. When they had seen each other the few times since then, Paul had made a point of having fattening food there to eat. John appeared to eat normally. If he was throwing it up later, it wasn’t when Paul was around. Paul hoped that John would be open to discussing this subject sometime in the near future, because it worried him.  
  
 Paul was tossing the salad when the doorbell rang. Tossing salad was one of his (few) specialties in Linda’s kitchen.  
  
 “Paul, you haven’t even showered yet,” John snapped as he strode in from the bedroom, freshly showered and dressed.  
  
 “That’s because _I_ had the _sauce_ ,” Paul whined.  
  
 “I’ll get the doorbell – you get cleaned up. I put clothes out for you on the bed.”  
  
 Paul stopped in mid stride in the hallway and turned around to face John.    
  
 “ _What?”_ Paul thought he’d heard John say that he had laid out clothes for him. That couldn’t be right.  
   
 “I _said_ ,” John whispered furiously as he approached the door, “I laid out an outfit for you to wear.”  
  
 “I can dress myself,” Paul responded stiffly.  
  
 “That’s a matter of opinion,” John hissed. “I want you to look presentable for my friends.”  
  
 Paul was insulted. “I always dress myself!”  
  
 “That’s obvious to everyone, Paul. Have you ever actually looked at yourself in the mirror before going out? I can’t believe Linda lets you escape wearing some of those outfits.”  
  
 Paul was now taken aback. He turned towards the bedroom and muttered loudly, “Linda has no complaints…”  
  
 John threw open the door.  
  
 “ _Jason! Gerry! Welcome_!”

******

    
     Jason and Gerry had been dumbfounded when John had come up to their apartment earlier that week and invited them to dinner at a nearby address. It was the early summer of 1981, and they hadn’t seen or heard from John since the January morning telephone call when he had been obsessing over his lover in England. But when John stopped by, he appeared to be literally buzzing with excitement, and refused to fill them in on the details. He told them the invitation was “top secret”, and that they shouldn’t mention it to anyone, not even the other members of the salon circle.  
  
 After John left, Jason let his curiosity out for a walk. He turned to Gerry, who was seated in his armchair, with a pipe, studying the newspaper.  
  
 “It must be about this lover of his. I think he’s finally going to let us meet him,” Jason suggested hopefully. Gerry was silent. “I’ve been dying of curiosity for months now,” Jason added. Gerry’s face, behind the newspaper, was still, except for an affectionate twinkle in his eyes. Jason continued. “What do you suppose he’ll be like? Will he be one of those ragged sculptor types, who forget to shave, and wander around in their work pants?” Silence from behind the newspaper. “Or,” Jason continued, revving up his enthusiasm, “maybe he’ll be one of those really thin, waiflike creatures they have in England.”  
  
 That got Gerry’s attention. The newspaper flapped down. “What on earth are you talking about? You sound like Archie Bunker!”  
  
 “You know, the Brits throw off this really elfin kind of queer. They are delicate and effeminate.”  
  
 “You’ve totally forgotten what John told us. The guy is straight; he’s married with children. While he may be queer, it is doubtful that he is delicate and effeminate. Didn’t John say he himself was the submissive one?”  
  
 “But only because he was curious what it was like! At least, that’s what I think he said.” Jason lost himself in his feverish speculation again. “I hope he is one of those buttoned - down types. You know the ones, with bowler hats, shiny black shoes, and an umbrella. Pinstriped coal grey suit, and wearing suspenders.”  
  
 “Jason, I think you’ve had enough wine for the night.”

  
******

 The week had passed, and Jason’s curiosity was finally going to be sated. Gerry warned him as they put the finishing touches on their most elegant casual clothes, “This may have nothing to do with his lover, Jason, so don’t act all disappointed if he isn’t there.” By now Jason had absolutely convinced himself that he was finally going to meet the mystery man with the sexy voice, so he ignored Gerry’s warning as they set out across the park.  
  
 And then they were there, with John throwing the door open with expansive arms. “ _Jason! Gerry! Welcome_!”

*******

  
  
 John quickly hustled Gerry and Jason into the living room area of the cozy loft. John was quite excited about the place. One wall was exposed brick, and the long exterior wall was filled with ¾ length windows. The remaining walls were still white, and nothing was hung on them. The keys to the apartment had only been handed over to Paul’s lawyer in New York the previous week, after the blind trust Paul had set up to purchase the place had closed escrow. The old owner’s furniture was still there. John was excited about finally being able to decorate his own home. Paul had set up a very generous bank account with his New York lawyer to finance John’s decorating whims. Paul knew that it would give John something to do during their long separations.  
  
 Gerry and Jason exclaimed about the apartment and its possibilities while remaining clueless about why they were there. John poured them some wine, feeling very suave and sophisticated on the one hand, and maybe a little bit like a phony on the other, since he knew at some level that he was aping his guests’ hosting skills.  
  
 “So does this mean you have left Yoko?” Jason asked. He was finally unable to contain his curiosity.  
  
 John laughed. “No. But this is my new secret getaway place.” John smiled, because Jason looked as though he was about to burst. “You can’t tell anyone. _Really_. You’re the only ones I’ll ever have here, because I wouldn’t have this place at all if it weren’t for you. It’s my way of saying ‘thanks’.”  
  
 Jason was still bursting. “Is this some kind of compromise with Yoko?” Jason and Gerry had learned over the years that Yoko held all the purse strings, and John never got to spend money without Yoko scrutinizing the purchase first.  
  
 “No, Jason, I didn’t buy it. My lover did.”  
  
 Gerry and Jason both looked stunned. John laughed at their expressions. “He’s loaded. _Way_ richer than me,” John explained. This surprised Gerry and Jason very much, although they were comforted by the notion that at least this man wasn’t out to get John’s money.   
  
  _But a wealthy sculptor?_  
   
 “When do we get to meet him?” Jason asked eagerly.  
  
 John looked at his watch. “Any minute now. We just finished cooking, and he’s getting dressed.”  
  
 Jason positively glowed with the news, shooting an ‘I told you so’ look at Gerry. “Well, prepare us, John. What do we need to know about him so we don’t embarrass ourselves?”  
  
 “I don’t think there’s any way to prepare you. You’ll just have to experience it on your own, like everyone else.” John had an evil grin on his face.  
  
 Before Jason could comment, Paul walked into the room. Jason and Gerry both sucked in big breaths of air simultaneously. Paul was oblivious to the undercurrents, and put his best company manners on display.  
  
 “I’m Paul,” he said, reaching out to shake Jason’s hand. Jason left it there, staring into the familiar huge orbs. Paul noted the delay, and put his second hand over Jason’s and squeezed, bringing Jason back from his reverie. Paul had to do that a lot when meeting new people.  
  
 John laughed. “Well, Gerry,” John said cheerfully, “I’ll bet you’ve never seen Jason speechless before.” Gerry laughed, shook Paul’s hand, and they all sat down as John handed Paul his glass of wine. To Gerry, it was suddenly all so clear – especially what had seemed like John’s extreme over-protectiveness of his lover.  
  
 Jason was still staring, and secretly Gerry was stealing peeks too. Sartorially speaking, John had chosen well. Paul looked breathtakingly beautiful in a pale lavender long-sleeved henley-style shirt and slim fitting blue jeans. Paul still had a glorious tan from his recent holiday with Linda and the kids, and his eyes looked green in contrast with the purple. Altogether, he was quite a specimen.  
  
 John snapped his fingers in front of Jason’s face. “Earth to Jason. Earth to Jason.”  
  
 Jason finally snapped out of his daze. “Very funny, John, but you might have warned me who it was.”  
  
 “And miss all this fun?” John teased, making Gerry laugh.  
  
 “I feel as though I’m missing the joke,” Paul pointed out, looking from one person to the other in the hope of illumination.  
  
 Jason had finally regained his poise. He started by apologizing to Paul for gaping at him.  
  
 “I didn’t notice, really,” Paul lied, charmingly.  
  
 “Okay. So. John - now we know. So – how’s this thing going to work?” Jason was all business.  
  
 “Jason, let’s just have a nice evening. They’ve made dinner for us…” Gerry interrupted.  
  
 Grateful for the interruption, John led everyone to the dining table. After the meal was served, Jason started up again. Surprisingly (to Paul at least) the food wasn’t bad.  
  
 “So, Paul, have you and John ever lived together before?”    
  
 Paul gulped, and looked to John for support. John jumped in.  
  
 “He tried to live with me and my roommate back in Liverpool once. How long did that last?” John looked to Paul.  
  
 “Not more than a month,” Paul guessed.  
  
 “What happened?” Jason asked.  
  
 “He threw me out,” Paul said succinctly.  
  
 “What? Why?” Jason was all agog.  
  
 “I didn’t _throw_ you out Paul. You went out on your own. I just locked the door behind you.” John was swirling spaghetti around his fork.  
  
 “Yeah. ‘I went out.’ _To the communal bathroom to have a bath_!” Paul was watching the wine swirling in his glass.  
  
 “Why’d he lock you out?” Jason asked, fascinated by the story already.  
  
 John answered. “He was such an old woman, you have no idea. He was only 19, but every word out of his mouth was annoying.”  
  
 Paul ignored John and spoke to Jason. “I was working during the day, and doing the clubs at night. John was laying around all day and eating all the food.”  
  
 “I was hungry,” John pointed out in a reasonable tone of voice.  
  
 “So was I, when I _got home from work_.” Paul then turned to Jason. “He didn’t even have the decency to hide the evidence. He was surrounded by all the empty cartons.”  
  
 “God, he was such a nancy boy,” John announced to the room at large. His voice became high and fluty: “’ _Where’s my eggs?’ ‘Who’s going to clean this mess up?_ ’” John dropped his voice down to normal, again. “So, when he went out for his bath I locked the door. I needed some peace and quiet.”  
  
 Jason was on tenterhooks. “So what happened then?”  
  
 “So, I’m standing out in the hallway, wrapped in a towel, dripping, banging on the door. And John was yelling ‘ _Go away_!’” Paul turned to John, starting to get angry about it again. “Where the hell was I gonna go? It was dark, rainy, and I had no clothes!”  
  
 “I offered you your clothes, Paul, don’t over-dramatize.”  
  
 Paul finished chewing a mouthful of bread in a leisurely manner, and then told Jason, “He offered to throw them out the  
window, is what he did.”  
  
 Jason and Gerry laughed out loud. “So then what happened?” Jason urged.  
  
 Paul shrugged. “Our roommate saved the day. He handed me my clothes and I went home to my Dad.”  
  
 “I didn’t think you were going to take it so seriously, Paul. You didn’t need to move out. It was only a joke.”  
  
 “So that was your one attempt to ‘live together’?” Jason prompted.  
  
 “I moved into his house on Cavendish when I left Cynthia – that was 1968?” John looked to Paul, who nodded affirmatively. “I brought Yoko with me.”  
  
 Paul was sopping up leftover sauce with his bread. Without diverting his attention from this important task, Paul said, “That lasted about a month, too.”  
  
 “Only because you were so freakin’ touchy,” John responded. He turned to Jason. “He threw us out.”  
  
 “I never!” Paul protested.  
  
 “Well, technically we went on our own, but that lovely note you left for us to find…”  
  
 “…Yoko in my house, man…”  
  
 “…It was quite clear you wanted us gone...”  
  
 “…Yoko in my house, John. Pushing the bonds of friendship a bit far, that.”  
  
 “She wasn’t _that_ bad,” John’s voice was aggravated.  
  
 Jason turned sympathetically to Paul and said, “He brought his new lover to live with you in _your own house_?” Jason was scandalized.  
  
 Paul met Jason’s eyes with confusion. “Oh, _thaaaat_ … That didn’t bother me. _My_ new lover was there, too.”  
  
 “Crazy Francie.” John remembered.  
  
 “Maybe so. But she was the sanest one there in the house at the time,” Paul pointed out. He thought about that for a beat. “Although that’s not saying much.” Paul and John sat quietly for a moment, contemplating their wine glasses.  
  
 “What did kind of bother me though,” Paul finally spoke, “was how loud John and Yoko were when they had sex. I’d have guests in the sitting room and you wouldn’t _believe_ the sounds coming through the ceiling! Martha would start howling, and no one knew where to look.”  
  
 Jason was utterly confused now. “Martha? _Howling?_ ”  
  
 John noticed. “Martha was a _dog,_ ” he whispered.  
  
 Jason: “ _Ohhhh_ …”  
  
 John turned back to Paul. “Well, maybe we were loud, but we didn’t have whole ‘fuck days’.” Turning to his guests he added, “Yoko was so envious of all that sex. She wanted to spy on them, but I couldn’t bring myself to spy on my lover with my other lover, while my lover was having sex with _his_ other lover.”  
  
 “It gets complicated,” Paul added unnecessarily.  
  
 “So! Shall we move to the living room?” John asked brightly.

*****

  
  
 Jason’s head was spinning. He had been at the dinner table staring at his hosts for over an hour, but had not picked up even a single sexual vibe between them, although it had to be admitted that the electricity and chemical reactions were popping and crackling in the air around them the whole time. This was one complex relationship. Jason didn’t see how they could possibly live together, but they apparently couldn’t live apart, either. Jason was mainly concerned about John’s welfare. He knew how deep John’s love went, but didn’t know a thing about Paul. Other than he was drop dead gorgeous, of course. And, yeah, the sexy voice. Well, that and the way his face was a constant conveyor belt of adorable expressions. And his deep green eyes, and his hands… _Stop!_ Jason pulled himself forcibly from the brink, and surveyed the blank surroundings. He, Gerry and John were in the sitting area, sipping their wine, and Paul was over in the kitchen area, washing up.  
  
 “So he does the washing up, too?” Jason twinkled.  
  
 John made a face. “He’s so frickin’ compulsive. When he comes back in here, hold on to your wine glass, or he’ll whisk it away to wash it.”  
  
 Jason couldn’t hold his concern in any longer. “If you couldn’t even live together longer than a month back then, how do you expect to make it work now?”  
  
 John grinned. “We’re not really ‘living together’ living together,” he chuckled. “We see each other a few days every two to three months. Paul comes here, while his wife and kids visit with her family.”  
  
 Jason was still concerned. “So, it’s all for the best? This is enough for you?” Jason was remembering John’s anguish the previous January over the forced separation from his lover. John winced slightly at Jason’s question, while Gerry told Jason to mind his own business. John didn’t have to answer the question, because Paul came back in, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, wearing a white half-apron.  
  
 John said, “Take your apron off, Alice. You’re looking too domestic.” Paul smirked as he removed the apron and put it away. Paul then very politely asked Gerry and Jason about their lives and interests. Throughout, Jason was waiting for some tell – some sign – that there really was a sexual relationship between them. But no. It was crazy. Finishing each other’s sentences, check. Reading each other’s body language, check. And even the secret glances and smiles they frequently exchanged appeared to be more like comrades conspiring against the world. This must be why they’d gotten away with it for all this time despite constant and heavy scrutiny.  
  
 It was Gerry who got them talking again. “Hamburg in the early ‘60s must have been very interesting.”  
  
 John and Paul both laughed out loud, and then looked at each other. “’Interesting’ barely covers it,” John said. “We were really very coddled, very polite boys. We showed up with matching lilac sport jackets, and the audience laughed at us.”  
  
 “It took us a while to figure out what they were laughing at,” Paul remembered.  
   
 “Then, the next year we were all in black, smoking, drinking, swearing at the audience, eating on stage…”  
  
 “…sex in the hallways…” Paul interjected.  
  
 “You _would_ mention the sex,” John remarked to Paul. He then turned back to his guests. “Paul was totally out of control. The girls would stand in a line outside our kip, waiting for their turns.”  
  
 “Oh, they did not.” Paul turned to Gerry and Jason. “Anyway, John was just as bad.”  
  
 “That’s revisionist history, that is, darling.” The endearment sounded like a joke in John’s drawl. “Paul had so many women he never had any time for me. Pissed me off no end. I went after one of ‘em once with a pair of scissors.”  
  
 Jason was horrified. “You attacked a woman with _scissors?!”_  
  
 “Oh, not her so much – more her clothes.”  
  
 “And the wardrobe,” Paul added helpfully.  
  
 “Yes, and the wardrobe,” John admitted, smiling at the macabre memory. “We got really wild the second time we went. In ’61,” John continued. “We were crazy on those pills we were taking – prellies. Those amphetamines were so strong and addictive that they don’t even sell that compound any more.” John turned to Paul. “Remember how we kept getting arrested?”  
  
 “ _Arrested!_ ” Jason cried, anticipating some really juicy stories. He didn’t know that he was in no way prepared for John and Paul and their secret language. Soon, Jason would figure out that he just had to pay strict attention and hold on tight.  
  
 Paul laughed. “Ah, that was our Reign of Terror on the Reeperbahn.” John and Paul were both giggling at their memories.  
  
 “We’d get bored,” John finally explained. “You don’t want Paul and me bored at the same time. We’re up for anything.”  
  
 “And we’re very creative,” Paul chirped. John laughed heartily at that.  
  
 “The first arrest – that was the marching band, right?” John asked.  
   
 “No, maybe it was the monkey suit.”  
  
 “You should’ve stopped me Paul. _You_ had the leash.”  
  
 “See, until that exact moment I never knew how much I wanted to watch you in a monkey suit sniffing under ladies’ skirts.”  
  
 “Under their _skirts_!?!” It was Gerry exclaiming now, surprising all of them.  
  
 “Apparently someone took offense and called the cops,” John responded. “We suspected the bartender.”  
  
 “Except we never had any evidence,” Paul noted.  
  
 Turning to Paul, John asked, “Remember those cops? What were their names?”  
  
 Paul thought. “We called them Eddie and Phil.”  
  
 “Oh, that’s right.” John turned back to his guests. “They called us Johan and Pauli by the end of the gig. It got to the point we were so used to it, that we’d just obediently offer up our wrists to be cuffed. One time when they were snapping on the cuffs, I shouted to the crowd that had gathered, ‘These cops arrest us every week and take us off to perform weird sex acts on us.’ And then Paul shouted, ‘ _And it ain’t half bad_!’” John and Paul laughed uproariously at the memory.  
  
 “I think we were growing on them by the end of our Reign,” Paul opined objectively.  
  
 “There was this one jail cell we always stayed in. I remember one night Paul turned to me and said, ‘Someday they’ll call this cell the Lennon/McCartney Suite’.” John laughed. “And how much you wanna bet that they have a little sign up there? You know – Lennon  & McCartney stayed here.”  
  
 It was getting late, and they were all laughed out, so Jason and Gerry got up to leave. There were warm hugs at the door, and then the walk back to the Dakota to face. Jason and Gerry walked in silence for a while before Gerry spoke.  
  
 “They’re hilarious; like a comedy team. They almost don’t seem real. Do you think they were ‘on’, or do you suppose that’s what they’re like together all the time?”  
  
 “A little of both?” Jason suggested. “I suppose they feel pressure to live up to their image.”  
  
 They walked more in silence before Gerry voiced his concern. “Do you think Paul is smart enough for John?”  
  
 “He’s drop dead gorgeous; who cares?”  
  
 “I’m worried that John will be bored. Looks aren’t everything…”  
  
 “Looks like those are!” Jason laughed. “But I am worried that Paul doesn’t appear to be that interested in the sex part. I’m worried John will get hurt. I didn’t pick up a sex vibe from them at all.”  
  
 Gerry shrugged, not really comfortable with the gossiping any more. “They certainly did give a good impression of two best pals, more than lovers.”

*****

  
 As soon as the door closed behind Gerry and Jason, John had pounced on Paul, dragging him by the arm down the hallway. Paul was not putting up a fight, but he felt that the proprieties should be observed – if only with just a quick genuflection.  
  
 “Your friends seem…” That’s as far as he got before John pushed him down on the bed, and covered Paul’s mouth with his own. He stopped only long enough to roughly pull the shirt over Paul’s head. “Ouch!” Paul felt a button scraping across his face.  
  
 John then pushed him back down again, muttering under his breath, “So fuckin’ beautiful sitting there. Tantalizing. Wanted to get my hands on you…”  
   
 Paul briefly wondered why John hadn’t shown any physical affection for him in front of his friends. Probably habit. They’d been hiding it so long…  
  
 “ _Oomph_! John that _hur_ ….” Paul’s mouth was smothered by John’s again, and then the mad Liverpudlian devil started working his tongue down Paul’s body… At that point Paul just decided to stop thinking, and lie back and enjoy it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There Wasn’t A Chair

 It was late 1982, and Paul was thinking about the state of his life. In a few days, he would be flying back to New York, without his family, “on business,” to see John. Linda had tired of the farce of all of them flying back to New York together, while she and the kids were hanging in Long Island, and Paul was in the City with John. Of course, he and Linda had never really talked openly about it together – not since Linda had made it clear that she wanted his relationship with John to remain separate from their family, and invisible to her. So for the last several months Paul had flown out to New York alone, did his thing with John, and then flown home. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as it had sounded when he and John first came up with the idea.  
  
 While he looked forward to the times he could spend with John, he was still suffering daily from the duality of his life. He was neither here, there, nor the other place. He wasn’t really a “family man”, if implicit in that description was the requirement that you _not_ have a male lover on the side. He wasn’t really sharing a life with John, either. They barely had enough time to finish sating their sexual frustration before they had to part again. This was hardly conducive to a “real” relationship. And he didn’t really have a job either, so he wasn’t even a “working man”. Paul just didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t (a) a family man, (b) John’s one and only partner, or (c) a successful musician and performer. He needed at least _one_ of these titles to feel like himself, and now he had none of them. He’d really fucked everything up, and had no idea at all how to fix it.  
  
 After the 1980 Japan bust, Linda hadn’t wanted to tour any more, and Paul had understood, but he felt like a fifth wheel hanging around the house all the time, with no one to perform for or to share the creative process with. Part of Paul was not alive unless he was the sinecure of all eyes, performing for an audience. Almost any audience would do at this point. But Linda had felt they should both be there for their children as they entered their teens, and she wanted stability for them. She had urged him to move to the country where the kids could go to local schools, and not be surrounded by the wild rich kid crowd in London. These were positions that Paul could not argue with; he knew she was right about the children, and he had always believed children should come first. If you weren’t prepared to believe that and act on it, then you shouldn’t become a parent.  
  
 But now, two years later, Paul was dissatisfied with the life of a retired rocker. Paul had lots of ambition and creative energy still left, and the stunted ways that he had to go about stoking those needs had resulted in disappointing work product. He wasn’t really happy as a solo artist; he needed and wanted someone to collaborate with. His problem was he was such an intimidating creative force - both in talent and will - that he soon scared away or wore out any potential creative partners.  
  
 For her part, Linda had reached the point where she was completely over the whole band on tour thing, and out of patience with Paul’s “thing” with John. Up until Paul had announced that he needed to spend some time in New York alone for a few days every few months, she had had no smoking gun evidence that the two of them were still meeting secretly. They had gotten extremely good at hiding. Whenever John and Paul put their minds together, they always excelled at a thing. But now she was left with no more illusions. When this whole thing had started, two years earlier, she had told Paul she didn’t want to know, and at the time she had meant it. But that kind of brave, idealistic pose was easier to strike than it was to hold.  
   
 As a result, Paul and Linda began to argue. First, it was little things. Where they should summer, where they should winter. It grew to be bigger things: Paul wanting a band, Paul pushing to tour; Linda wanting to stay in the country, and out of the limelight for the sake of the children; Paul resenting Linda for defining their children’s happiness in a way that completely excluded Paul’s dreams. Who was really to say what was best for the children? He didn’t like Linda using the children as a tactic to deny him his ambitions. When Paul would bring this up, Linda’s resentment of the “John Thing” would be on the tip of her tongue. She hadn’t wanted it to be that way – she hadn’t wanted to be the bitter wife who threw such things in her husband’s face, especially after she had told him it was okay for him to have this secret life so long as he kept it invisible to her and their family. Of course, at the time she said it she had also thought it wouldn’t last long. She had felt for sure that John would betray and humiliate him, and it would finally be over. To Linda’s frustration, it appeared that John was sufficiently motivated by his desire to keep Paul in his life that he was actually behaving himself, and hadn’t blotted his copybook yet. This was truly surprising to Linda, who had never known John when he had been loving and kind to Paul.  
  
 So it was very tempting to throw this in Paul’s face when he was being such a blockhead about that damn touring thing. Didn’t he know the world had moved on? It was moving on to electro music, for crying out loud. Linda had always hated the release dates of Paul’s albums. She called it “carve up time.” Paul couldn’t take it. She would have to be the strong one, and get him through it. Why couldn’t he see that the music world had moved on, and he should instead be happy with their quiet life together? What was so wrong with their life together, anyway? And why was it never enough? At moments like this her bitterness over John would almost overwhelm her: partly because she didn’t really know what was going on, and partly because she feared that it had gone much further than she could even imagine.

*****

  
 Meanwhile, back in Dakota-land, John had been through his own private kind of career-hell post 1980. After ‘ _Double Fantasy_ ’, Yoko had poked and prodded him into a half-hearted follow-up album, “ _Milk and Honey_.” John hated that album even more than he hated “ _Double Fantasy”_. While his friends in the rock press protected him from the worst of it, this second album headed straight for the remainder bins. It died a quiet and humiliating death. There was no hit off this album at all. John felt lost and at a loose end. His attempts at songwriting were half-hearted, largely because Yoko got up earlier than him and would be seated at the grand piano and composing music before he even awoke, and then she would proudly play her compositions for him. It didn’t seem to occur to her that she was emasculating his muse by doing this. This reminded him of the last few years of his creative partnership with Paul, when Paul was sending out song after song while John was struggling to even write one good song. It was the fear of this happening again that kept him from writing with Paul. He didn’t want to end up resenting Paul again; that had destroyed their first friendship. Paul _qua_ Paul was what he needed and wanted. To John, the creative partnership was only one of the many side effects of their all-encompassing symbiosis. He feared (knew?) that Paul saw it differently. John slammed that door closed in his brain as quickly as it had popped open.  
  
 Thankfully, he had his stolen meetings with Paul to look forward to. After Paul had purchased the loft in New York for them in 1981, at John’s urging - and Paul had even done so without Linda’s knowledge - John had felt as though he had obtained at least some stature in Paul’s life. For this reason, he had been inordinately proud of his influence over Paul in that matter. Now, over a year later, Paul’s marriage appeared to be rocky, because Paul visited New York more often than before – every six weeks or so - and usually he was by himself. Paul never talked about Linda to him. It was a line that he would not cross. And frustratingly, John was still bound to his curfew because of Yoko, and it was maddening for John to have to leave the loft late at night, with Paul all warm and cuddly in the bed, and go back to the Dakota without spending the night. How he wanted to wake up in the morning, entwined with Paul.

*****

  
 On one fateful night in late 1982, the subject came up as they lazed in each other’s arms after a spirited lovemaking session.  
   
 “I don’t want to go home,” John announced.  
  
 Paul did not respond, but just squeezed John’s shoulder.  
  
 “Did you hear me?” John asked sharply.  
  
 “Ummm hmmm.” Paul was on the verge of falling asleep.  
  
 “Wake up! Listen to me! I don’t want to go home!”  
  
 Paul yawned loudly. “So don’t.”  
  
 “But I have to!” John responded, frustrated.  
  
 “Then go.” Paul’s response reflected his confused exasperation with John’s ping-ponging argument.  
  
 Irritated, John sat up and turned on the lamp. Paul’s eyes slammed shut in shock at the assault.  
  
 “Warn me next time John!” Paul complained.  
  
 “I can’t do this anymore. I hate leaving you here and slinking back to my flat like a cheating husband.”  
  
 “You _are_ a cheating husband.” Paul thought for a moment and added in a softer, guiltier voice: “And so am I.”   
  
 “But I’m tired of the fly-by-night quality of our visits together. I want more. I want time for us just to _be_ together, like the old days.”  
  
 John had worked himself up, and his voice had gone up a pitch and was vibrating with emotion. Sighing, and in an effort of will, Paul forced himself to sit up, and bunching pillows behind him, prepared for the onslaught of the histrionics he was sure would follow. He had to stop himself from smiling affectionately at John’s expression. John didn’t like it when Paul was amused by his dramatics.  
  
 “Okay. I’m awake. So what are you on about?”  
  
 “Is this really enough for you, Paul? Does this satisfy you? We can’t go out together, we can’t spend the whole night together, and we can’t talk about each other to anyone.” John‘s guilty conscience shirked as he remembered his old friends Gerry and Jason, whom he had been steadfastly avoiding for months. “Don’t you want more too?”  
  
 Paul realized he was not going to get out of this one by nodding, hemming and hawing in a sympathetic way like he usually did. He was actually going to have to _participate_ in this train wreck of a conversation.  
  
 “Of course I do, John, you know I do.”  
  
 “Well, then?” John was expecting more than just homilies from Paul.  
  
 “Well what?”  
  
 Frustrated, John simplified it for Paul. “What are we going to do about it?”  
  
 Paul watched John’s taut face with a loving smile. He reached a hand out, and traced John’s nose, right down the spine of it, and then ended with a gentle poke to the end of his nose.  
  
 “I’m not sure I know what you want from me. Why don’t we start there?” Paul’s voice was soft and comforting.  
  
 John was impatient and heaved a big, exasperated sigh.  
  
 “I want to live with you, at least part of the time. Like, for two weeks or so every two months? We can stay here, it doesn’t have to be a dramatic change.”  
  
 John’s voice sounded strangled, and Paul’s heart ached for him. It ached for himself, as well. John was holding his breath and didn’t realize that his hand was tightly squeezing Paul’s thigh. Paul winced from the pain but remained focused.  
  
 “If we were to do that, John, our wives would know, our kids would figure it out, and eventually the whole fucking world would too. What’s more, I don’t think Linda would ever go along with that. She would probably kick me out. Wouldn’t Yoko?”  
  
 “Yoko wouldn’t go along with it. I would have to do it in spite of her objections.” Now John’s hand was gently, almost absent-mindedly, stroking Paul’s inner thigh.  
  
 “And if she kicked you out?” Paul felt the caress, but still remained focused.  
  
 John sighed but pressed forward. “I would have more time for you. I would be free, finally. I could move to London to be near you.”  
  
 “And you don’t think she’d go to the press to tell all?”  
  
 John was stumped for a moment. “She’s not popular. Maybe people will not believe her, and think she is just bitter.” With that John’s hand gave Paul’s left testicle a quick squeeze. Paul jumped, and pushed John’s hand away. He remained focused.  
  
 “We’d have to lie. We’d have to deny each other openly. So far we’ve been lucky they’ve never flat out asked either one of us whether we were lovers in the Beatles.” Paul stopped and a little irony slipped into his voice. “They asked you about Stu, about Brian, about any number of men, but they never asked you about me.”  
  
 John smiled, and his hand was back, massaging Paul’s thigh again. “I know,” John said, in a wondering tone of voice. “I was always waiting for that shoe to drop, and it never dropped!” He looked warily at Paul. “I would have lied, Paul, if they asked. I wouldn’t have outed you that way.”  
  
 Paul smiled gently at John, and then a flicker of mischief chased across his face. “I was always relieved they didn’t ask about me, but there was also this kind of indignation. ‘ _What am I? Chopped liver?_ ’” John and Paul both laughed. Then they both quickly sobered again, thinking about the serious tone of the original conversation. There was silence for a moment while John gently cradled Paul’s balls in his hand. Paul’s head was thrown back and his eyes were closed.  
  
 “I could live with lying about it, if you can,” John finally said quietly. “I wouldn’t want our children to be hurt, and I think we have a right to lie about it, to protect our privacy and our children.” John removed his hand abruptly when the thought of their children popped into his mind.  
  
 Snapped out of his reverie, Paul looked down at his hands, where they were fidgeting in his lap. Without looking up he said in a much softer voice,  
  
 “And Sean? What about Sean?”  
  
 John was brought up short by that question. Paul’s eyes slowly moved up to meet John’s. They were quiet for several moments. John had left his first son behind for Yoko. Was he going to do the same thing to Sean, only this time for Paul?   
  
 John was determined not to have a kneejerk reaction to this question. “Things are different now, Paul.” John’s voice was more hopeful than it was confident. “Joint custody is more the rule now, than the exception.”  
  
 “Could you be satisfied with that?” Paul was staring intensely into John’s eyes. “Living away from your son for weeks on end? I could never live apart from my children on a regular basis. It would break my heart.”  
  
 John noted that Paul did not say he couldn’t live apart from _Linda_ on a regular basis. It was a very small victory, but at least it was a victory. A moment later, he was able to form a truthful response:  
  
 “I am not much of a father figure to Sean like this, Paul. He’s scared of me, I can tell, like Julian was, because of my explosive temper and my moodiness. I am unhappy in my life, so I am not a good parent. Even if I spend less time with him, if the time I spend with him I’m happy and alive, then he and I will have a stronger relationship.” John put his hand protectively over Paul’s penis after he finished his explanation.  
  
 Paul watched John’s eyes throughout this entire speech, as his body absorbed the warmth and thrill of John’s touches. When had John become this wise? What he said made a lot of sense. Paul nodded quietly at the end of John’s speech, as if empathizing with him.  
  
 “So?” John pushed. He removed his hand again and sat up. “Are you with me? Are we going to insist upon having our own space and time together? We can let the wives choose whether they want to accommodate us, or they can choose to kick us out. If they kick us out, we’ll have each other!”  
  
 Paul panicked at the thought of losing his family. He still loved Linda deeply, and needed her, even though they were going through a rough patch. Paul knew that the bad patch would eventually end, and they would be happy together again. Still, he was only half alive when he wasn’t with John. The stolen few hours a day over four-day sessions locked up in the impersonal loft left so much to be desired. And maybe if they spent more time together, John would break down and write with him again. If only Paul could satisfy his need to compose meaningful music, maybe he could find himself again.  
  
 Without thinking, the word had escaped his mouth: “Okay.”  
  
 John’s brain almost froze in surprise. “ _Okay_? _Really_? _That’s it_? I don’t have to have a tantrum and throw things? I don’t have to sob facedown in my pillow while kicking my feet?”  
  
 Paul, laughing, responded, “Actually, I would like to see you do that anyway, John. Quite the souvenir from our visit! It would do me no end of good.”  
  
 “ _Shurrup, Pud_.”  
  
 But John was chuckling. He felt a huge weight lifted off his shoulders.  
  
 Deciding there was no time like the present, he turned off the lamp, and snuggled down into the bed, patting the bed beside him to beckon Paul in to his arms. After a moment of quiet surprise, Paul responded by moving into a spooning position, with John’s arms around him. He grunted with pleasure to himself, closed his eyes and soon was sound asleep. John was awake longer, feeling his arms rising and falling with Paul’s breathing as he stroked Paul’s chest. He scootched his head into the hollow of the back of Paul’s neck, kissing the skin wherever his mouth touched, and luxuriating in the feeling of not having to leave. Tomorrow he would wake up with Paul in his arms, and he would then have to go back to the Dakota and face the music.  
  
 He hoped his courage would sustain him, and he would finally be able to stand up for himself. And, truthfully, he hoped even harder that Paul would live up to his word. He was not at all confident about that. Only time would tell.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell Hath No Fury

 John’s optimism had waned somewhat by the time he woke up the next morning. He jerked awake and checked the clock. Eight o’clock, or near enough. Paul was nestled under his arm and still sound asleep. _He_ didn’t have to face Yoko, so _he_ could afford to sleep the sleep of the untroubled. Looking at Paul made John smile. He had forgotten about Paul’s extremely heavy beard. It had always looked like an alien anomaly on that baby face.  
  
 This was the longest period of time – 16 whole hours! – they’d spent alone together in 12 years. How weird. Paul started moving against him, and then his eyes flew open. They stared at each other for a few seconds as Paul’s eyes were focusing. And then – _the Macca smile_! John’s heart did a little flip, but shy suddenly, he forced his face to assume an ironic expression.  
  
 “You’re getting lazy in your old age,” John teased.  
  
 “My inner clock is all messed up,” Paul responded, yawning and stretching.  
  
 “Liar!” was John’s cryptic reply.  
  
 Paul winced in an amused way and then smiled. “Okay, tough guy, so you wore me out last night. I confess.” Paul disentangled himself from John’s various limbs and turned on to his side, propping his head up on his arm, akimbo.   
  
 “So when are you going home to face She Who Must Be Obeyed?” Paul’s eyes were twinkling, which took all of the sting out of the comment.  
  
 “Soon. I try to see Sean by 9:00 each morning.”  
  
 “You’d better get moving then,” Paul pointed out, gesturing with his eyebrows to the clock. But Paul’s eyes and his left hand clearly had other ideas.  
  
 John pretended irritation about the fact that Paul’s hand was gently massaging his cock. “If you wanted more sex, you should have awakened earlier. The early bird gets the…”  
  
 “…nooky?” Paul laughed at John’s feigned indifference. “Seems a waste not to take advantage of the situation. You’re gonna pay for it either way when you get home.” Paul leaned forward and playfully nipped at John’s neck.  
  
 “Aren’t you the romantic one?” John was struggling to get up, much to Paul’s surprise. He hadn’t expected this much resistance from John. But John was halfway to the bathroom before he turned to Paul and asked, “Coming?” Paul let loose with a relieved laugh and followed John into the bathroom. John figured wanking each other off in the shower would kill two birds with one stone: he could have more sex but clean up at the same time.

*****

  
 The Dakota apartment always felt cold, empty and dead to John when he came back from being with Paul. Time seemed to stand still in that apartment; one could even hear the clocks ticking. It was after 9:30 a.m. when he made his way to Sean’s bedroom. It was the only warm and welcoming room in the whole place, in John’s opinion. John had barely begun to play and chat with Sean before Yoko was in the doorway, glaring at him.  
  
 Of course, Yoko would not have known that John hadn’t come home if John’s personal assistant hadn’t told her. It was more than the p.a.’s job was worth not to let Yoko know. She was a whole lot scarier than John, even though John was plenty scary, too. John had factored this in to his decision to spend the whole night with Paul, so he wasn’t at all surprised to see Yoko standing there.  
  
 “We need to talk,” she said firmly, turning on her heel and heading for her office.  
  
 John hated to visit Yoko’s office, especially when he was in trouble with her. He always felt at an even greater disadvantage than he usually did, while she sat behind her desk, leaning back in her big comfortable chair, while he perched on the end of an uncomfortable armless chair.  
  
 “You didn’t come home last night.” Yoko made this calm statement and stared at John.  
  
 “That’s true,” John said, trying to lean back and hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.  
  
 Yoko kept staring at him, obviously expecting more from John. John’s stubbornness kicked in and he glared back at her silently.  
  
 Yoko sighed. She adopted her _I’m-reasonable-and-understanding_ voice, since the imperious one wasn’t working. “If you are going to start seeing other women again, I have the right to know. I _am_ your wife.”  
  
 “Why do you even care?” John asked bitterly.  
  
 “We’ve been over this many times. If you are going to see other women, and be out all night, you need to tell me because I worry about you.”  
  
 “Okay,” John said, adopting _his_ reasonable voice. “In the future I’ll let you know when I’m not coming home for the night.”  
  
 Yoko had not expected this response. She took a harder look at John. Something was different about him. A shock went through her. What if it wasn’t just the one night stands again? What if he had found a woman he loved? Warning bells were going off in Yoko’s mind, as she inwardly struggled to regain control. Outwardly, no struggle was necessary. She looked perfectly in control to John.  
  
 “I can’t help thinking that you are making some kind of bad mistake,” Yoko said carefully. “Please tell me who you’re seeing, and how long its been going on.”  
  
 John knew that this was “It”. This was the moment when he should tell Yoko how it was gonna be, and she could take it or leave it. But John quaked at the thought. Now that he was facing her, his confidence had disappeared. He decided to hedge a bit.  
  
 “I’m not ready to talk about this,” he said sharply. “I want this thing to play out some more before I talk about it with you.”  
  
 Ice water ran through Yoko’s veins. Her temper snapped, although outwardly she remained calm. “I can have you followed, John. I will find out who she is and all about her within a few days. You might as well save yourself the embarrassment, and me the trouble.”  
  
  _The fucking woman was an evil genius!_ _She’d put a P.I. on him! Photos of Paul and him entering and leaving the loft flat!_ _Now they’d have to close all the shades and curtains too, as if they were in a siege!_ This was unimaginable. He had no further choice.  
  
 “It isn’t a woman,” John said calmly. “And if you subject me to that humiliation I will leave you, and _never_ forgive you!” John could hardly believe the words had made it out of his throat. But he had been overcome by an irresistible urge to protect Paul from Yoko’s malevolence.  
  
  _Not a woman? What the hell?_ Yoko was silent for a moment, and she retraced her steps. Had John finally given in to his taste for sex with men? Yoko knew she had to walk carefully now. “If it’s not another woman, John, I don’t see why we can’t discuss this like adults. You just have to be upfront and honest with me.”  
  
 John sighed. There was no way out. “Paul and I are hanging out together again sometimes.”  
  
  _PAUL?!?!_ Now the warning bells were going off all over the place. This was much worse than an affair with another woman or even with some random man! She had leverage over mere ordinary women and men, but _PAUL?!?!_ Yoko had thought she’d stamped out that nascent regrowth two years ago! Yoko’s heart rate had increased substantially, and now she even _looked_ perturbed. John could see she was riled up.  
  
 “If you and Paul are just ‘hanging out’, why can’t you do it here?” Yoko asked silkily.  
  
 “Because we want privacy. We don’t want an audience. We have a lot to work out between us.”   
  
 “You can have privacy here,” Yoko stated angrily. John just snorted loudly. Yoko changed tactics. “Does _Linda_ know about these ‘ _hang out’_ sessions?” Her voice echoed with a kind of promised threat.  
  
 “Yes,” John said firmly, grateful that this was true. He figured otherwise Yoko would be on the phone to Linda instantly stirring up trouble.  
  
 Yoko was trying to understand what all this meant. She wondered hopefully if it was about songwriting. That would be bad, but nowhere near as bad as them becoming close friends again…or, no, no…Paul would never go _there_ again… If for no other reason than he had painted himself into the ‘family man’ corner. Still, the songwriting would lead to…Yes, she would have to call Linda and the two of them would have to put a stop to this. She had no faith in Linda’s skepticism. She was convinced that Linda was naïve enough to believe in “we’re just songwriting.” Yoko watched John’s face, and he was watching hers.  
  
 “Are you planning on working with him again?” Yoko’s voice was casual in the extreme. John was suspicious.  
  
 “No, we’re taking it slowly. We’re just spending time.” John was looking sideways at Yoko. What was she up to? Why wasn’t she freaking out?  
  
 “Hmmm….” Yoko was thinking hard. _Spending time_? _Yeah, right_. “You’re fucking him.”  
  
 John reverted to his go-to defense mechanism: sarcasm. “Technically, _he’s_ fucking _me_.” He showed Yoko a goofy grin. Roll of drums: _ta-tum_. “…As you no doubt already know, since you’re in the habit of listening in on my private phone conversations.”  
  
 Yoko had not expected a strong, unintimidated John. This was beyond her ken. She didn’t understand that she had triggered John’s protective instincts, so she was trying to ascertain where the interaction went wrong. She felt around desperately for purchase.  
  
 “You expect me to sit by while you and Paul make a fool out of me? You _promised_ , John! When I took you back in 1975 you _promised_ me that it was over with Paul!” Yoko was breathing heavily now. She had stood up and her finger was pointing at John. “I never would have taken you back if you hadn’t promised me! You were going to go join him in Nashville, remember? And you promised me you wouldn’t go, so I took you back! That was the deal!”  
  
 To John, it appeared as though Yoko’s face was a rictus, and her hair seemed to be standing out straight all around her head, and it was bursting into flame. _Whoa_ , John thought, _why isn’t this scaring me_? Silence reigned for a good minute or two. Finally, John bestirred himself. He started with a soft, low voice.  
  
 “Yoko, you did make me promise, and you’re right, I agreed. But you shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have gotten between us. You have no idea. You have no idea what we have been through together, what we mean to each other. If you want me to leave, I will. But I’m not going to give up Paul this time. I don’t care what you say. It’s non-negotiable. And you need to stay out of my relationship. No spying on me, no PIs, no phone monitoring, no mail monitoring. I _will_ have my relationship with him, with or without you.”  
  
 John had given away more than he realized. Now Yoko knew that Paul had not agreed to leave his family. If it had gotten to that point, John would be packing his bags already. There was still time, and there was still hope. Yoko’s blood pressure started going back to normal. She already saw a few strategies that might work. As always, it would require patience on her part, and the willingness to look like the loser for a while in order to end up the winner in the end.  
  
 “So you think you and Paul can have this affair on the side, and still keep your families and your _reputations_?” She had deliberately exaggerated the word “reputations”. John did not fail to notice this. A rumble of unease rolled through his stomach. Yoko continued, having allowed that threat to sink in. “Okay, we’ll see how it works. I’m prepared to look the other way, although I honestly don’t know what you think it will amount to. Do you really think Paul will ever choose you over his wife and children? Do you really think he will accept the possibility of the whole world finding out about his sexual relationship with you? And, did it ever occur to you that he might be leading you on in order to work with you again? He knows that he is nothing without you.” Yoko paused dramatically; laying on the flattery she knew John craved was a masterstroke, if she did think so herself. “In the end, I’m really concerned only about you, John. You’re the only one I care about. Can Paul say the same thing?”  
  
 Yoko waved John away. The audience was over. She turned to some documents on her desk, and when John didn’t immediately leave, she looked up with a question on her face as if to say, ‘is there something else you wanted?’  
  
 “So, you’re not going to harass me about Paul? You’re going to leave us alone? I plan to be gone sometimes two weeks at a time, several times a year.” John was digging in and his eyes were boring into hers.  
  
 “Of course, John. It will all come to naught, but I know you are the type of person who has to learn hard lessons the hard way.” She smiled, and looked back at her papers. After a few moments, John got up and walked away. His body language was full of doubt. Yoko smiled to herself. She waited for the door to close, and then waited another minute or so. She looked at the clock. It was only 4:30 in the afternoon in England. She fished around in her phonebook for a few moments until she found the number she had never actually dialed before.  
  
 Thousands of miles away, in a Sussex kitchen, the phone rang. Yoko could hear it ringing from her end of the phone.  
  
 “Hello?” said a breathless voice. Linda had just rushed to answer after coming back from picking up the kids at school and stopping at the grocery store.  
  
 Yoko’s face looked like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire cat. “Linda! How lovely to hear your voice…”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday...All My Troubles

 Paul leaned back in his seat and sighed, as the plane home to London gained altitude. He closed his eyes. As was now routine for him, he started to prepare himself mentally for switching back into Family Man mode. But for some reason, this time, thoughts of his relationship with John kept barging in, until Paul finally gave in to them.  
  
 After John had left the loft that morning, Paul had pottered around for a few hours, cleaning up in advance of the maid. There could be no identifiable artifacts left of the loft’s owner-occupiers, so the loft, while decorated to John’s taste, was impersonal. No photos on display, no scribbled notes or reminders attached to the ‘fridge, no mail scattered haphazardly on the hall table. Not even old airline ticket stubs in the trash bin. Only clothes in the closet, and those items did not tell secrets.  
  
 Not a very satisfying way to live. John was right. It was unnecessarily sterile. It would be a relief to just settle in with John in one place for a few weeks before having to go through and do the clean sweep. Paul had been extremely relieved when John had said “two weeks out of every two months”. He had been afraid that John was about to lay another ultimatum on him. Paul vividly remembered the first time this happened.

*****

  
   21 July 1968. No, India, the spring of 1968. No – it had actually started on Christmas Eve, 1967. That’s when Paul had gotten officially engaged to Jane Asher. It had been an impromptu decision the two of them made while on an especially loving and romantic holiday together. When it was just Paul and Jane alone, they got along great. The problem was that they didn’t really like each other’s friends. Also, Paul wanted Jane to give up her career and take care of him, but she had other ideas about her career. And Jane wanted Paul to give up drugs and philandering. Paul’s attitude was, so long as Jane left him alone for weeks at a time, he felt entitled to take drugs and philander to his heart’s content.  
  
 For whatever reason, however, that December felt idyllic. And they both made extravagant promises to each other that neither of them would be able to live up to for long. Anyway, Paul had proposed, and Jane had accepted. He hadn’t told John he was going to do it, because it was a spur of the moment thing. But he knew he had to tell John before he heard it on the radio. So late on Christmas Eve he called John at his home in the ‘burbs and nervously (and with an obviously fake cheerfulness) told John that he and Jane were finally engaged. Paul had expected John to be upset by the news, but the dead silence on the other end of the line surprised him. John had been very verbal about his disapproval of Jane Asher from the very beginning. He and Jane despised each other. Paul was always in the middle, trying to keep them both happy. His efforts were exhausting, and never fully successful. _Why on earth would any man want two wives_ , Paul mused. Not that John was a ‘wife’, of course. But Paul had a huge investment in that relationship. It was over ten years old, their work and creative lives were based on each other, and there was the sex, too…  
  
 In any event, Paul felt as though John pretty much hated all of the women he’d been close to. Oh, one or two didn’t annoy John as much as the others did, but Paul always felt John’s simmering resentment whenever he spent time with his girlfriends. At some point Paul was bound to get married to one of them – John _had_ to know that. But whenever Paul had made noises in that direction, John had treated Paul to emotional tirades and meltdowns. So the silence on the other end of the line was surprising to Paul.  
  
 “John, are you still there?”  
  
 “Yeah, where else would I be?”  
  
 “Do you have anything to say about it?” Paul probed.  
  
 “What do you want from me?” John’s voice at first sounded lazy and disinterested. “Congratulations! Three cheers! Hip hip hooray! You’re a jolly good fuckin’ fellow!” John’s voice had grown gradually louder and angrier as this tirade swept through. “How do you _think_ I feel about it?”  
  
 There it was: the hurt, the despair, the rage. Paul knew it would come eventually. He began to be exasperated. “ _You’re_ married, and you don’t see me flopping all over the place! Why is it different when _I_ want to get married?”  
  
 “ _First,_ ” John responded with a barely contained rage, “I never _wanted_ to get married. She got pregnant and I _had_ to marry her. And _second_ , once you’re married are you still gonna fuck me?” John’s angry question hung in the air for a few moments.  
  
 Paul knew where this was going now. He took a deep breath. “There’s no point in getting married if you’re not going to be faithful to your wife…”  
  
 “ _See!_ ” John trumpeted with angry triumph. “ _That’s_ the difference! You have a ridiculously outdated view of marriage…”  
  
 “It’s an _oath_ , John. No one twists your arm, so if you take an oath you should keep it.”  
  
  _Fuckin’ Boy Scout_ , John thought. “Well, _my_ arm got twisted, so maybe that’s why I don’t feel bound by an ‘oath.’” John’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Anyway, Jane hates me. She’ll keep you away from me.”  
  
 “She doesn’t hate you.” Paul’s voice was a study in controlled exasperation.  
  
 “She _does!_ It’s _obvious!”_  
  
 “Well, you don’t do much to let her see how great you are. You’re always acting like an ass when she’s around.” Here he was again, in the middle between the two people he loved and needed most in the world.  
  
 “She brings it out in me…it’s that holier-than-thou look on her face.” John’s voice sounded like that of a petulant 4-year old.  
  
 Paul sighed. They’d had this argument many times. There was no point in arguing again with John on the subject. “Well, even if you don’t like each other, it’s not going to make a difference in our friendship, John.”  
  
 “ _Ooh! Liar_!” John shouted, after thinking to himself how like Paul to change ‘hate’ into ‘dislike’. “ _You’re gonna stop fucking me!_ How much _more_ of a difference could there be?”  
  
 “I’ll be 26 soon. You had to know I’d get married eventually…we’ve talked about it…”  
  
 The receiver on the other end was unceremoniously slammed down, and Paul was listening to a dial tone. This was going to be tricky, and it added even _more_ stress to the huge load of it Paul was already carrying at the time.  
  
 Late 1967. Paul endured one lingering pounding after the other: coming down from and getting rid of the LSD and coke habits that had taken hold of him during the _Sgt. Pepper_ months; Brian’s death; the Greek Island dispute; the Magical Mystery Tour debacle – the others were all blaming him; and not to mention the serious money problems he had begun to learn about in the wake of Brian’s death. The last year of Brian’s life he had been seriously neglecting the group’s financial matters. They were in a terrible mess, and actually bordering on insolvency, despite the group’s wild success. No one else in the group or their inner circle wanted to hear about it except Neil Aspinall. It had become Paul’s sole responsibility, because he cared about it the most. He actually had the business _nous_ to worry about the future. Consequently, the engagement to Jane, and her promise to work around his schedule so that they could always be together, should have been the one bright spot in his otherwise scary life. Now it had become yet another stressful event he’d have to maneuver around.  
  
 That had been the backdrop to Paul’s mindset that early spring as he found himself being dragged by John and George into the Maharishi’s training camp… _er_ , ashram. Ringo was even more dubious than Paul was about the India trip. The two of them had arrived in India a few days after George and John, and Paul was surprised to find out that John had demanded a separate cottage from Cynthia for the duration of his stay. Since the other wives and Jane were there, sharing cottages with their men, this state of affairs was extremely humiliating to Cynthia, and this immediately infuriated Jane. Jane had never been one of the ‘Beatle girls’. She marched to her own drum. The other wives didn’t really feel comfortable around her, because of her upper middle class upbringing, to their working class upbringings. But in situations like these, Jane’s loyalty went to members of her own sex, and she gave Paul an earful about John’s vulgar and cruel behavior.  
  
 Meanwhile, John was taking turns pouting around Paul, or acting in an overly solicitous and almost flirtatious way with him. It was disconcerting in the extreme. John sat around the patio looking like a wounded animal half the time, but only when Paul was there to see it. Otherwise, he was going on – even in front of Cynthia – about the thought-provoking postcards he was receiving daily from this weird female artist who hung around the studios. When Paul actually saw the postcards, he was less than impressed. ‘ _Imagine clouds passing by_ …” Crap like that. Of course, congenitally polite, Paul kept his opinions to himself. It hadn’t escaped Paul’s attention that John was trying to use this woman to make _him_ jealous, although John was only succeeding in humiliating Cynthia in front of her friends.  
  
 About halfway through their stay in India, John invited Paul into his cottage, and again began talking about the artist, Yoko Ono. Paul finally interrupted him and asked gently, “Why are you doing this to Cyn?”  
  
 “I’m not doing anything _to_ her, Paul. I’m needing this time for myself, and she insisted on coming.”  
  
 Paul digested this. “But Pattie and Mo were coming, and it would have been hard on Cyn to be left behind. Can’t you see that?”  
  
 “I’m through living my life in order to make _her_ happy. She’ll have to find a way to make _herself_ happy from now on.”  
  
 Paul didn’t know how to react to that, so he said nothing. The silence filled in the lull, and then John spoke, the pissy attitude gone from his voice and face, replaced with the voice and expression John used to talk Paul into doing stuff he didn’t want to do. Paul’s eyebrow quirked in distrust.  
  
 “I’m thinking of moving out of Kenwood,” John said. “I think I should move into Cavendish, with you.”  
  
 Paul was flabbergasted. _What?_ Was John tripping? Jane would have a cow! “I’m sorry – you said, move in to _my_ house?”  
  
 John nodded. “I’m willing to leave my wife for you, Paul. And you need to end this farce with Jane. The two of you are ill-suited and it will never work out.”  
  
 Paul was confused. “So, we’d be _roommates_?” Paul’s voice was incredulous. “You don’t understand. I’m tired of the bachelor life – I want to make things more normal, less crazy…”  
  
 “That’s what I want _too_ ,” John said in a comforting voice. “Only I want it with you.”  
  
 At first, you could hear a pin drop. _Then_ Paul finally got it. He wrestled up a small, shaky voice. “You mean, like Peter Brown living with Brian?” Paul was horrified at the very idea.  
  
 “Well, you’re not gonna be my ‘assistant’, Paul.” John drawled.  
  
 Paul didn’t know where to start. “We’re not queer, John. Just because we…well, we’re not like Brian was with his boyfriends.”  
  
 John considered this comment. “You’re right. We either of us _might_ have ended up preferring a woman, but it just so happened that we ended up preferring each other.”  
  
 “Makes no sense, John. People are either one way or the other. They can’t be both at the same time.”  
  
 “We are.”  
  
 “We’re not!” Paul was not liking this line of thinking at all.  
  
 “Paul, we each fuck women, and we fuck each other. We’re doing both at the same time. I don’t see how you can deny that.” John’s voice was extremely logical, but tinged with sympathy for Paul’s obvious fear and confusion.  
  
 Paul had to admit that John had a point, however much he didn’t want to believe it. But Paul had always seen himself ending up with a wife and a bunch of kids. It had been no part of his plan to be a life-long bachelor living with his best friend. Paul finally found his voice again.  
  
 “It’s kind of a big thing you’ve suddenly thrown at me,” he said. “Too much to take in all at once.”  
  
 “You’ve got time. You don’t have to decide this minute. I know you’re worried about what people will say…”  
  
 “Aren’t you?” Paul interrupted.  
  
 “We’ll say we’re bach’ing it for awhile because of my divorce. We can still see women if we want. Why not?”  
  
 “And what about Jane?” Paul asked.  
  
 “Oh, she’ll run for the hills the moment you tell her I’m moving in. She’ll threaten to leave, and all you’ll have to do is let her go.”  
  
 “Oh, yeah, _that_ won’t hurt at all…what’s five years between lovers?” Paul was staring at John oddly. He was thinking John had taken leave of what was left of his senses.  
   
 “What you _should_ be asking is, what’s _ten_ years between _friends!_ ” John did not blink as he met Paul’s eyes.  
  
 “You can’t throw this at me and expect me to jump!” Paul was now responding with passion. He felt that his whole view of his relationship with John was on the verge of making a huge shift, like what happens when one rock plate slips under another. The landscape was going to be dramatically different and littered with scars when it was all over. It was a frightening premonition, which Paul immediately wiped out of his mind.  
  
 “Like I said, you don’t have to decide now, but you do have to decide soon. I might find someone else to live with instead if you wait too long.” With that, John held up a few of Yoko’s postcards and presented a comic smile.  
  
 Honestly, though, Paul couldn’t take that woman too seriously. She had actually stalked _him_ for a while before she gave up and went after John. John was scared of her at first. Paul was certain this artist was just a red herring, dragged in to the conversation to make Paul jealous. Paul certainly had been jealous of John’s sudden all-encompassing crushes before, but not about the sex they might have been having with John. What he resented was John’s tendency to force these people into their creative partnership and friendship. No, he really didn’t see Yoko Ono as a threat to the all-important aspects of his relationship with John. She could have all the sex she wanted with John as far as Paul was concerned.  
  
 What _had_ concerned him was that John had apparently gone totally barmy all of a sudden.

*****

  
 Paul stirred in his seat. He gratefully brushed away the bitter memories of 1968. It was 1982 again, and he was flying home to London. Time to activate his Family Man mode…


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stand By Your Man

 Linda always made a point of picking Paul up at the airport upon his returns from his New York trysts with John. She wanted hers to be the first face Paul saw when he got home. This particular trip was different. As she made her way to Heathrow, she was muttering angrily to herself. This was totally out of character for Linda, as any of her friends and family would tell you. But it had only been about six hours since she had received that phone call from Yoko. That _unspeakable_ woman!

*****

  
 Linda had just managed to catch the phone before it switched to the answering machine, and was still holding a grocery bag in her arms when she heard Yoko’s greeting. The kids had scattered as soon as the car hit the driveway – finally freed from school!  
  
 “Linda, how lovely to hear your voice!”   
  
 Linda recognized Yoko’s fake little girl voice immediately. Linda knew it was fake, because when the little girl voice didn’t work, Yoko could revert instantly to the tone and confidence of a master dominatrix.  
  
 “Yoko! Is everything all right?” Linda assumed immediately that something bad had happened, because she knew Yoko wouldn’t just be calling to hear her voice or pass the time of day.  
  
 “Yes. But you and I need to talk,” Yoko said, all business suddenly. “Is this a good time?”  
  
 Linda’s curiosity was aroused. “Well, if you can wait a minute or two, I can put the perishables away, and then we can talk.” Linda quickly placed milk, eggs and fresh produce in the ‘fridge, stripped off her coat and scarf, and made herself comfortable at the kitchen table. Then she picked up the phone again. “You said we need to talk?”  
  
 Yoko had spent those few minutes sketching out an outline for her “talk” with Linda.  
  
 “John just told me about what is going on between him and Paul. He said you already knew.”  
  
 Linda’s heart plummeted. She managed to say, “Yes,” in a calm voice.  
  
 “I assume you think they are writing songs?” Yoko’s voice hung out there in space for a moment. “They’re not, you know. They’ve started up their sexual relationship again. It started two years ago when John and I were in London.”  
  
 Silence from Linda’s end; she didn’t want to talk about her private business with Yoko. But she didn’t want to appear ignorant, either. “I know,” she said, in as matter-of-fact a manner as possible.  
  
 Yoko was honestly surprised that Linda knew. She had felt sure that either John or Paul was lying about the whole ‘Linda knew’ thing. This required Yoko to scrap her initial strategy and vamp.  
  
 “And you’re okay with this?” Yoko asked incredulously.  
  
 Linda didn’t view Yoko as a friend. She wasn’t even someone she could trust with small things. “How my marriage works is between me and Paul, and no one else,” she said succinctly. There was an edge of steel in her voice that surprised Yoko, who had always thought that Linda was a flaky, basically vapid (and thus easily led) woman.  
  
 Yoko started again. “They’re going to spend two weeks straight together several times a year. Did you know _that?_ ” Unbeknownst to Yoko, her voice was laden with resentment.  
  
Linda picked it up right away.  
  
 “Like I said, Paul and I keep our marriage private,” Linda repeated. Privately she was shocked and terrified by what Yoko had just said. _Two weeks together several times a year? This was getting really serious…_  
  
 Yoko finally figured out that Linda wasn’t going to react to this news, and that her loyalty was to Paul no matter what. So she changed strategies again.  
  
 “I’m only worried about _them_ , Linda,” she said soothingly. “They have an unhealthy relationship. They are not good for each other.”  
  
 Linda actually took the phone receiver away from her ear and held it out in front of her while she gave it an ‘ _are you crazy_?’ kind of look. But then she said, “I never noticed that myself. Of course, all four of them were at each other’s throats when you and I came in to the picture, so I don’t think we can judge what their relationship was like before that.”  
  
 Yoko was thwarted again. She couldn’t believe it! This stupid woman was running rings around her! Why couldn’t she find a way in to her insecurities? This was Yoko’s specialty – nosing around until she found a person’s sore spots, and then periodically and judiciously poking at them in order to get her way. It wasn’t a nice quality, but then she was a tiny woman from a country that – at the time - hadn’t respected a woman’s intellect, and from a time when that country was at war and then occupied by a foreign power. She had to survive somehow, so she had used her considerable brainpower to do so. It had been her strongest asset during the bad times, but as the years went by and bad times became good times, this same skillset had become her biggest deficit. Not that she was aware of this fact. She just went straight to the “mattresses” in her mind whenever trouble brewed.  
  
  _Hmmm. Linda was incredibly sentimental about her children. Maybe that would work?_ “Of course, if the press found out,” Yoko suggested, “it would be the _children_ who would be hurt the most.”  
  
 Linda was appalled at this tactic. “Our children do not live in the limelight,” Linda said with a hard, firm tone. “They live in our home. And whatever is said about us in the press, we know how to handle it. Isn’t that true of Sean, too?” Linda felt a pang for Julian. She knew she’d probably have to call Cynthia and give her a heads up if things got that far.  
  
 Yoko was absolutely dumbfounded, but not yet ready to give up the ghost. “Sean is very young,” she said in a plaintive voice. “He is too young to explain such things to. He’ll be forced to grow up faster.”  
  
  _Going for the sympathy now_ , Linda thought sourly. “Of course, I’ve raised _four_ , so I understand that children are much smarter and more resilient than parents sometimes think. I have faith that love and honesty will balance out any hurt feelings.” Linda’s bravado covered her own real concern about what would happen if Paul’s secret love affair with John became public knowledge. But it wasn’t so much the children that worried her; it was Paul. She didn’t know if he could take it. He already was suffering greatly from the dissonance created by the huge variance between the things he believed in, and the things he was doing. But Yoko had no need to know anything about her Paul. Yoko had done enough damage to Paul already, and from now on she’d have to go through Linda first!  
  
 “Well,” Yoko said in a deliberately doubtful tone, “I hope you’re right. If you’re wrong, it will be very bad for all of us.”  
  
 Linda snuffed in aggravation, but leashed in her response. “What exactly do you think I could do about it?” she asked, turning the tables on the master manipulator. Might as well get to the bottom of this ugly conversation and be done with it.  
  
 “I think you should encourage Paul to end this relationship before it gets out of control. He obviously loves you and your children more…”  
  
  _Ahhh, insincere flattery now_ … Linda smiled to herself.  
  
 “…and Paul will listen to you, whereas John is a child. I can’t reason with him when he’s like this.”  
  
 “So you want me to give Paul some kind of ultimatum? Is that what you expect me to do?” Linda’s voice reflected her absolute indignation at the nerve of this woman.  
  
 Yoko had to scramble. “No, no, not an ultimatum. But you need to persuade him it is best for his family…”  
  
 “See, Paul and I don’t work that way. I don’t tell him what to think or do, and he doesn’t tell me what to think or do. We respect each other too much, and I’ve always thought that couples who manipulate each other like that have a serious problem in their relationship.” _There! Take that you bitch!_ It was time to put an end to this outrage. “Still, thank you for calling me and letting me know your thoughts. It’s always best to have an open dialog on such matters. _Oh! Look at the time!_ I have to start dinner for the kids, and then go pick Paul up at the airport later…”  
  
 Yoko, dazed and confused, rang off. She sat in the silence of her office for several minutes afterwards wondering what the hell had gone wrong. It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Clearly, Linda was a woman in deep denial. There could be no other explanation.

*****

  
 There was light rain falling as Paul slipped into the front seat next to Linda. Linda had moved over to the passenger side so Paul could drive. He leaned over and they kissed lovingly. “I missed you,” he whispered. His eyes danced mischievously, and Linda knew he was thinking about what was going to happen in their bedroom later that night.  
  
 “Me too,” Linda giggled. Whatever else she had learned about life, she knew that love was the root answer to all problems.   
  
 They rode in silence for a few moments, because it was always kind of awkward when he got back from these trips. What kind of small talk could you actually engage in at a time like this? _So how is your lover? Did you have a good time? Was the sex good?_ Linda started out with the go-to safe topic. “The kids missed you too,” she said warmly. “They are very excited you’re back. I promised them you’d stop in and kiss them goodnight when you got back, even if they’re asleep.”  
  
 Paul sighed gratefully. This woman was a wonder. But he did worry about what it was costing her. It seemed really unfair for him to just slip back into their family life seamlessly, after putting her through so much emotional tumult. And what did the kids think he was up to? They were told he was going on business trips. This was the first lie that Linda and he had deliberately perpetrated on their children, and it had been a decision he believed he could not step back from now.   
  
 “Lin, I love you. You know that, don’t you?” Paul asked.  
  
 Linda whispered, “yes”, and then waited.  
  
 “No matter what stupid shit I do, I love you.”  
  
 “What ‘stupid shit’ are we talking about now?” Linda’s eyes were twinkling, when Paul nervously checked.  
  
 Paul laughed. “I know. I do so much ‘stupid shit’, it is impossible to keep track.” They both laughed knowingly. “But I’m talking about John.”  
  
 “You don’t really think that John is ‘stupid shit’, Paul. If you did, you wouldn’t be involved in any of this.”  
  
 Paul took this in, and bravely (at least it was for him) continued. “I can’t help it, Lin. It’s like he’s part of me, like my arm, or my liver…I can’t deny him, because it is like cutting off a body part.”  
  
 Linda already knew this, although she was surprised that Paul knew it, and had expressed it so well.  
  
 “I guess what I’m trying to say, and not very well, is that what I feel for John is completely separate and apart from you. John can’t touch you…”  
  
 “And I can’t touch John. We’re each in our separate compartment. Yes, I know that, luv.” Linda had finished Paul’s sentence, but now Paul looked so in pain that Linda’s kind heart rushed in to action. “But I do know what you’re saying. You’re saying that the love you have for John doesn’t diminish the love you have for me, and vice versa.”  
  
 “Yes,” Paul said, again grateful for this wonderful woman. How on earth had he found her? Why did the universe believe he deserved her after all the hearts he’d broken? Now the hard part… “Linda. I have something to ask of you. It is a huge favor, and you can say no. If you say no, I will drop it and never bring it up again.”  
  
 Linda saw that Paul was struggling mightily with his secret – the one he had to share with her – the one she already knew, because Yoko had already told her. She didn’t want him to suffer longer than necessary. “I know what you’re going to ask,” she said softly. “Yoko called me about seven hours ago. Apparently John told her the two of you would be spending two full weeks together several times a year?”  
  
 Paul’s heart was in his mouth, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, the first thing Yoko would do to avenge him was to reach out and try to ruin his marriage to Linda.  
  
 Linda felt his inner turmoil, and again reached out to him. “Baby, let’s get home, let’s settle back into our safe little world, and then, after a short while, I will be ready to talk about this. Okay?”  
  
 Paul heaved a gigantic sigh and then gave Linda a genuine Macca smile. Linda loved that particular smile. It was like a thank you gift from her husband, for being so mature and understanding. The funny thing was, Linda was no longer feeling hurt and marginalized by the ‘John Thing’. That whole ‘Yoko Thing’ had reminded her why she and Paul had a strong relationship and a wonderful marriage. No one would ever take her place in Paul’s heart, and Linda felt relief course through her. So, the worst that would happen is she would have to share Paul with John for approximately 12 weeks out of every 53. And, if you looked at it objectively, Paul had been John’s love first. He had been John’s love far longer than he had been hers. _She_ was actually the interloper, not John. Seen from that perspective, Linda could feel unthreatened. The only way she would lose her husband is if she clung too tightly.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Goes Up Must Come Down

 John was “playing” with Sean. This meant that he was stretched out on the sofa lost in his thoughts, while Sean chattered away and played with his Legos on the floor next to him. John had used the same benign neglect approach with Julian. He didn’t really know how to ‘play’ with kids, although he enjoyed engaging in word games with the brighter children he came across. And Sean was as bright as they came. But young kids tired of word games very quickly, and wanted to go back to imaginative play. Funny that he – John – had such an elaborate imaginative life, but couldn’t really share that with children. _Probably because it is mostly X-rated_ , John sneered. This line of thought brought him, of course, to Paul, where almost all lines of thought eventually led John. Paul had always just entered into children’s fantasies and fit right in: like with his stepsister Ruth, with Julian, with Linda’s daughter Heather, and of course with his own children.  
  
  _I wonder what Sean would make of him?_ John wondered, gazing affectionately at his son. Sean had been raised in the company of two very detached adults. Neither Yoko nor John was silly in a childlike way. Consequently, Sean had become a very self-contained, precociously verbal kind of child, mature beyond his years, and had never been exposed to any full–on fantasy fun, or roughhousing. Sean probably would be contemptuous of Paul’s attempts to play with him, thinking it was beneath him. John frowned. That was not a good thing. Sean deserved to be a child like every other child. The play dates he’d set up for Sean with other children had usually turned out to be sedate affairs, with art projects or television viewing. John was going to have to do something about that. Other kids’ parents would put them on sport teams, and maybe that was something he could do for Sean. But John’s aversion to the politics of team sports made him feel this could be torture for Sean, who would no doubt come off like a rarified creature to kids who had grown up in normal households. This would no doubt lead to bullying.  
  
 John sighed, and checked the clock again. It was only one hour later than it was the last time he looked. And it would be four weeks and two days before he would see Paul again.  
  
 Yoko hadn’t spoken about the fight they’d had about Paul. She had acted as though it never happened. This left John in a very uneasy kind of suspense. John needed desperately to talk to Paul. He needed to hear his voice, and find out if Paul had lived up to his promise to tell Linda he wanted more time to be with John. This led John inexorably towards the fact that he had been ignoring Gerry and Jason for months. He had felt like he had gone too far out on a limb, sharing his secret with them. He needed distance, but they were his conduit to Paul. Or, more correctly, their telephone was. Suddenly John realized it was the first Wednesday of the month of December. This would be their Christmas salon. Before he could psych himself out of it, he picked up the phone and called.  
  
 Jason picked up. John asked if he could come over right away and use their phone.  
  
 Jason was immediately energized. “Of course! John! I’m so glad! We thought we’d lost you! Maybe we did something wrong that night…”  
  
 John cut him off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just fucked up, as usual. Don’t take it personally. I'm a bloody boor.”  
  
 Jason laughed. “We wouldn’t love you half as much if you weren’t a boor, John! Are you coming to the salon?”  
  
 “Wouldn’t miss it,” John said. And funnily enough, he meant it.

*****

  
 Moments later, and as soon as Jason and Gerry each had let him loose from a fierce hug, John headed for their telephone. In the months since John had drifted away from Gerry and Jason, Paul had obtained a cell phone. John had been using a telephone booth to conduct his private conversations with Paul, but that had grown old. Paul’s cell phone was the size of a brick, and it didn’t work all that well, but John was the only one who had the number. He called the number. Paul answered.  
  
 “What’s up, John?” John heard. He also heard mayhem in the background.  
  
 “Just wanna talk. What the hell is going on?”  
  
 Paul laughed. “It’s a party – the kids wanted to throw a Christmas party for their friends. It’s mass chaos here.”  
  
 John felt immediately left out, and utterly despondent. Paul seemed to sense his mood.   
  
 “John? What’s the matter?” Paul had walked upstairs and into his attic room, closing the door. There was no longer the sound of happy and excited children in the background. Linda of course knew about the cell phone, and – no longer resenting it – watched Paul disappear upstairs with a secret smile. Each time, after he talked to John, Linda had noticed that Paul was always particularly amorous. She wasn’t too proud to offer herself up to be the vicarious receptor of his urgent need to eject sperm. There’s an upside to everything, if you just look hard enough.  
  
 “I just miss you is all,” John said with a sad sack voice.  
  
 Paul smiled with affection. “Where are you?”  
  
 “Gerry and Jason’s.”  
  
 “Really? How are they? I really enjoyed meeting them that time.”  
  
 “They’re fine. They asked me to say hello for them.”  
  
 “Consider it done, and say hi back for me. John…you sound down. Are you blue about something?”  
  
 “I _am_ down. I’m living on tenterhooks. Did you talk to Linda?”  
  
 “Yes.”  
  
 “What did she say?” John’s heart was beating fast. He was delighted that Paul had actually followed through, and was now nervous about what he might say next.  
  
 “She’s okay with it. The hard bit is the kids. What do we tell them? We’re working on that.”  
  
 John was astounded. “She’s _okay_ with it?”  
  
 “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ amazing. Maybe _she’s_ amazing.” Paul laughed at his own joke. “She doesn’t mind me talking about you, either.”  
  
 John sucked in his breath. He wasn’t sure he wanted Paul talking about him with Linda. Paul sensed John’s disapproval.  
  
 “Not about what we do or say, John,” Paul comforted. “Just the fact of it – you know, that you and I have this relationship, and I am committed to it.”  
  
 John could hardly believe his ears. He was stunned into silence. Paul had never flat out said that to him before: "I am committed to it" - and here he just let it slip in casual conversation as though it weren't the most amazingly gratifying thing that John had ever heard! Paul continued chattering, talkative enough for both of them.  
  
 “So how did it go with Yoko?” Paul wasn’t going to tell John what Yoko had done – how she had tried to hurt his relationship with Linda by calling her before even Paul could talk to her. Paul was trying to play fair. It had to be hard for Yoko to find out that John still had these strong feelings for him, and neither Paul nor Linda had any desire to throw a wrench into John and Yoko’s relationship, since John could not be trusted to live healthily on his own.  
  
 “So far, not too bad. She was extremely upset with me when I first told her, but she hasn’t said a word about it since. She promised me she’d leave us alone so we can have our time together.” John didn’t really believe Yoko’s promises, but he felt disloyal saying so to Paul. What a complicated mess this was!  
  
 Paul didn’t believe for a moment that Yoko would stop meddling. She was just biding her time, and would cause some kind of trouble along the line. But Paul had no intention of saying so to John, and he also figured that whatever it was she ultimately did to them, they would all survive.   
   
 “Well, what do you know?” Paul chirped. “I guess we’ve both gotten the green light!”  
  
 John felt uneasy, because he wasn’t sure at all about Yoko. But he was delighted that Paul thought all was well. “So when are you coming? And for how long?” John was eager to tie Paul down (figuratively _and_ literally.)  
  
 “About four weeks from now, isn’t it? I’ll stay two weeks.”  
   
 John was unhappy about the four weeks, but euphoric about the two weeks.  
  
 The two men spoke lovingly and then sexually together for another 20 minutes, and then parted ways. Paul went back to his children’s party, and John went out to face Gerry and Jason.

*****

  
 After the phone call, and without talking with Gerry and Jason, John had gone home, cleaned up, and returned to the Salon a few hours later, not long after the first few guests had arrived. The old group welcomed him in astonished but warm surprise, since it had been almost two years since John had participated in one of their sessions. Gerry and Jason had been true to their word, and had not leaked any of John’s doings or secrets to the others. That was immediately clear to John, who gave Jason an especially tight squeeze in thanks. Gerry – he had known Gerry would never leak. Jason had been the one who worried him, not because Jason would mean harm, but only because he was voluble and enthusiastic and he might just blurt things out without thinking.  
  
 John immediately felt sheltered within the arms of this group of men, who apparently had no ulterior motives in their warm feelings for him. None of them had ever shopped him to the tabloids, although none of them (other than Gerry and Jason) knew that John was in love with a man, or that the man was Paul McCartney. John doubted whether news like that could survive the ministrations of eight different men. Surely at least one of them would tell someone, and that someone would tell someone else… John had no intention of sharing this part of his life with all these men. He could just barely trust Gerry and Jason with the information.  
  
 Of course, they all wanted to know what he’d been up to. John decided to share with them the part of the story that could never do too much harm - now that Yoko knew what was going on. He told them that he had met up with his “one true love” in London two years earlier, and that they had maintained a “long distance relationship” ever since. They all thought his one true love was a woman, and John was happy for them to continue to believe that. He cast his eyes on Jason and Jason winked back at him. He was safe.  
  
 The question for discussion that night was, “If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?”  
  
 When it was John’s turn to talk, he decided to tell the absolute truth. “I wish I could trust in the basic fidelity of the people I love.” This response brought the whole evening to a screeching halt. They all were staring at him, knowing instantly that John was finally being truly and brutally honest about himself in front of them. John saw that he needed to explain a little bit.  
  
 “I don’t trust anyone. I’m always expecting that at any moment someone I love will pull the rug out from under me. I’ve been this way my whole life. It takes an enormous amount of psychic energy to live like this. I wish I could get past this fear of abandonment. I know, intellectually, where it comes from. But just knowing where it comes from doesn’t make it better; at least, it hasn’t for me. I still automatically go there. Whenever something good happens, immediately I’m sure that it is a trick. That something bad will follow immediately afterwards.”  
  
 Everyone pondered John’s heavy comment. Gerry finally spoke.  
  
 “You really need to have therapy to move beyond these vestiges of childhood trauma. Have you ever tried to get therapy?”  
  
 John said, “Janov’s scream therapy, about 11 years ago.”  
  
 Gerry winced. “So how did that work for you?”  
  
 John laughed. “So I rolled around on rubber mats screaming my guts out about my mother and my father. The only thing I got out of it was strained vocal cords and one good song. Couldn’t sing for weeks. That only made me _more_ depressed.” John looked up, his face alive with humor, and noticed that everyone there was looking at him with deep sympathy in his face.  
  
 Gerry waited a moment before responding. “You really ought to look into a more conventional therapist. I know I’m a conservative old fuddy-duddy, but I’ve always been skeptical about these psycho-fads. Of course, conventional therapists never promise instant results, and you have to be realistic about that.” John caught Gerry’s unspoken point: that John’s impatience might keep him from sticking to real therapy, which could take years to address even a single deep-seated problem.  
  
 So John heard what Gerry said, and he also heard the muttered sounds of agreement from the other men there. “Do you know of a good therapist for this sort of thing?” John asked the group.  
  
 Gerry was surprised that John had actually taken what he had to say so seriously. “Yes. I do. I’ll give you the number.”  
  
 John determined to not only take the number, but to call it and have at least one appointment. He could use all the help he could get to deal with his wild mood swings and deadly depressions when Paul wasn't with him.  
  
 As the evening broke up, and the others left, Jason pulled John aside: “How is Paul? Is everything all right?”  
  
 John smiled warmly at Jason. “Better than ever. He says hi. We’re going to spend more time together, our wives know, and they aren’t going to make a stink about it.”  
  
 Jason was frankly surprised. He didn’t know the first thing about Paul’s wife, but Yoko…He had serious doubts that she was not going to make a stink about it. He hedged with himself over whether he should say anything, and finally decided he had to err on the side of being the best possible friend to John.  
  
 “I wouldn’t trust Yoko about this if I were you, John. I don’t think she’ll give up the control that easily. I’m not saying she is a bad person, I hardly know her so I can't judge, but being in control over you seems to be very important to her.”  
  
 John stared at Jason as if he were auditing the mutterings of an idiot savant. What could he say?  
  
 “I know,” he conceded. “I’m more worried for Paul. She can’t afford to cut me loose, so she’ll take it out on him. I hope I can see what it is, and stop it, before it happens.”  
  
 Jason looked at John dubiously. “Don’t tell her anything. But warn Paul. Warn him that he will be the target of her rage.”  
  
 John’s eyes grew with alarm. He had been telling this to himself for days now, but it hadn’t ever really sunk in before. But then, a belief struck him from out of nowhere…  
  
 “Paul already knows,” John said with conviction. “I don’t have to warn him. Paul can take whatever Yoko dishes out and then some. He is one tough bastard.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Flew Over (and Pooped On) the Cuckoo's Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a psychiatrist, and don't even play one on TV, so don't try this at home! I do want to give GIGANTIC THANKS to our own geminigirl58 (on LJ) for being my BETA on general, conventional psychiatric therapy circa 1983. All errors are mine, but to the extent it sounds accurate, that would be geminigirl58's doing.

 It was 3 p.m. on a Tuesday, early in January 1983. John was in a darkened room, lazing back on a comfortable sofa, listening to the clock tick. Opposite him was a middle-aged woman, with short greying hair, half-glasses perched on the end of her nose, and a pad and pen in her hands. She was allowing John space. She’d had dozens of patients over the years, but John needed more space than most of the others had. This was their fifth session together (John had signed up for two one hour sessions per week), and John still hadn’t been able to articulate why he needed to be there.  
  
 Depressed. Moody. Unable to focus on work. Hinted-at difficulties in the marriage. Nothing the therapist hadn’t heard hundreds of times before from all types of patients. Somehow she knew there was at least one more potent problem bringing John Lennon into her therapy office. Usually there was a precipitating factor that drove a person into therapy, although John had not yet come clean with her about this.  
  
 She had some educated guesses, but didn’t indulge them too much, because she wanted to keep an open mind. But she had made some quick notes to herself to guide her careful probing. Not surprisingly, given his fame and accomplishments, this patient had strong narcissistic qualities. Everything and everyone the patient spoke of appeared to be automatically filtered through the lens of ‘what does it mean to me?’ When someone in his life took a self-interested action, instead of seeing that this was just human nature, this patient turned it into a failed loyalty test. And trust issues. Huge trust issues. He hadn’t told her a thing, really, about his past. He had been wallowing in generalities, when he was not clamming up and staring at her with suspicious hostility, or mocking the form of her questions, or showing up late and then demanding his full hour anyway. But, slowly, his circles around the core of his problems were coming closer and closer to the center. She knew full well she could not push him, because she would have flunked the ‘trust’ test on the spot. So she was giving him space.  
  
 Although it appeared as though John was dozing, he was acutely aware of the therapist’s presence, and his self-protective urges were on guard and at alert. This was one of his better days. He didn’t feel like creating drama today, probably because a rational part of his brain was telling him it was stupid to fight his own fuckin’ therapy. What was the point of going to these sessions, and paying all this money, if he wasn’t going to open up at least as much as he could in front of Jason and Gerry? Of course, still another part of John knew why he was afraid of this woman. She might as well have been a shaman, or a wizard. She had specialized knowledge and skills, and she might get things out of him that should never be exposed to the light. Once they were exposed, then they would lose all their magical power. John sometimes really did think that he had magical powers hidden away somewhere in his brain that he had to protect from the world. Still, he needed to say _something_ to justify the trouble and expense. He searched his mind for a safe topic.  
  
 “I find I’m not as certain about things as I used to be,” John offered in a bored voice.  
  
 “Not as certain about what things?”  
  
 “My music, for one. I never seem to finish anything, because I become convinced that it is crap.”  
  
 “What's it like to seem to never finish anything and regard it as crap?"  
  
 “Crappy.” John laughed, but the therapist’s smile was slight, and impersonal. John, sighing in an obvious show of boredom, offered a slightly more palatable response. “It makes me feel like I have lost my ‘muse’.” John made a self-deprecating face as he said the word ‘muse’.  
  
 “Tell me about your muse.”  
  
 “What?”  
  
 “When you refer to your ‘muse’, what do you mean? Can you describe it to me in words that I can understand?”  
  
 John sighed with irritation. He knew full well that this therapist had heard the word ‘muse’ before. “It’s a pretentious word which refers to whatever it is in your mind that gives birth to creative inspiration, I guess.”  
  
 “What do you suppose that ‘thing in your mind’ is?”  
  
 “I don’t know. It’s just always been there.”  
  
 “And now it isn’t?”  
  
 “It seems to have deserted me. I can write, but I run out of steam halfway through. I put it away. I lose interest. I try again. Same thing happens.”  
  
 “And what thoughts do you have when you lose interest in what you are writing?”  
  
 “I feel lost and alone. A muse can be very good company.” John smiled in a campy way. But then something true accidentally slipped out, as an afterthought. “And, when it’s flowing freely, you can feel really great about yourself. It’s like being able to fly.”  
  
 “It must be hard to know what flying feels like, but no longer be able to do it.”  
  
 “Exactly!” John exulted. “That’s exactly how it is! If I’d never flown before, I wouldn’t miss it, would I?” John thought some more. “Alone… Just then, when I said ‘alone’, I was thinking about it in another way too, but I can’t put my finger on it somehow.”  
  
 The therapist’s ears pricked. This was the first time the patient had alluded to a sub-conscious thought while he was speaking to her. This was a good sign. She wasn’t going to rush in on it, call attention to it, because it would chase him away. She let it sit there for a few moments while John sat quietly.  
  
 “No, I can’t recapture it. It’s gone now.” John looked disappointed and frustrated.  
  
 “We can play a word game; that might help.”  
  
 John perked right up. Word games were right up his alley!  
  
 “Just tell me every word or thought that comes to your mind when you say ‘alone’. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with you or what you feel. Just free association.”  
  
 John settled down to concentrate. This could be fun. “Afraid. Deserted. Cold. Left out, like looking through a window from the outside, while everyone inside is warm and happy. A kind of living death. Having nothing interesting to do, boredom. A crowded room but you’re not part of it. Isolation. Your heart is either aching, or it is numb. Not having someone to depend on. Abandoned. When you can hear a clock ticking. Seeing someone’s face and the love isn’t there anymore…” John stopped. He could probably come up with more, but he was starting to repeat himself. He looked up to see if the therapist approved of his choices. Her face was pleasant but unreadable.  
  
 “Can you think of any positive words or images for the word ‘alone’?”  
  
 John was perplexed. ‘Alone’ wasn’t a positive word – it was a terrible, negative word. He saw nothing positive about it, but he knew what she was after. He looked at her with ill-concealed contempt for a moment.  
  
 “I know what you’re saying,” John said.  
  
 “I’m not saying anything. I’m just asking you to try to free associate in a positive, rather than a negative, way.”  
  
 “But what you’re really saying is that I am conflating ‘alone’ with ‘lonely.’” John’s eyes reflected his opinion that this was a jejune revelation at best.  
  
 The therapist’s sharp eyes took in John’s sharp eyes. John had a victorious smirk on his face. She knew that he knew that she knew that he knew, and so he felt he had gotten the best of her in this particular transaction. The patient clearly saw his therapy as a series of skirmishes on the road towards winning some larger, more frightening battle that he suspected, and the therapist knew, was not winnable. She wasn’t surprised by his hostility. This patient was too intelligent and self-regarding not to know that his central fear in life was to be abandoned, betrayed, left or hurt by the people he allowed closest to him. But what he didn’t know was that she knew what he didn’t know she knew, (although he might not have known it himself). She knew that he was here, in this room, for some other, deeper, more compelling reason that had not even been mentioned yet.  


*****

  
 Paul and Linda were in a clinch. They were in the VIP lounge at Heathrow, saying goodbye for 2 whole weeks. This was longer than they’d ever been apart in over 14 years. They both understood this was a key moment in their relationship. It wasn’t as if they understood exactly what it meant, but they knew they were taking a step in a dangerous new direction. Linda saw the anxiety in Paul’s face.  
  
 “Am I making a mistake, Linda? Leaving you and the kids for two whole weeks…”  
  
 “Shhhh, Paul. There are plenty of fathers who have to be away from their families that long for work.”  
  
 “This isn’t for work, Lin. He doesn’t want to write with me.” Paul felt emotion rising up in his throat. Why was he making such a sacrifice for someone who wasn’t willing to even take a chance on him and what he needed? Maybe he should just stay with his family – people who had always been there for him, and who propped him up when he was down.  
  
 Linda was torn. She was tempted to persuade Paul that he should just stay home. But she also knew that Paul would never forgive himself for not going - for at least not even trying to meet John’s needs. She hoped that if Paul made this gesture for John, that John would reciprocate by agreeing to work with him again. That would be a fair exchange, and worth Paul taking such a huge risk. She smiled reassuringly, and patted his back with both her hands. “Paul, you want to be with him. And he wants to be with you. It’s two weeks. It’ll be over before you know it. We’ve been on vacations longer than that! We’ll all survive. If you don’t like it, you never have to do it again.”  
  
 Paul sucked it up and nodded affirmatively to Linda’s bracing words. He felt like a child on the train platform being bucked up by his mum before he went off to camp. Paul’s sense of humor was like a safety valve. Just that image made him chuckle at himself. Drama queen! That’s what he was!  
  
 “Linda, I’m gonna miss the hell out of you and our children the whole time I’m gone.” He was hugging her fiercely.  
  
 “I hope not,” Linda said softly. “I hope you are there for John and he is there for you. I don’t think either one of you will ever be happy until you resolve your issues.”  


*****

   
 He felt like 007. John had actually packed a large suitcase, and gotten into a taxi, and had the taxi drive all over god’s green acre to throw off any potential P.I.’s, and then snuck up the back alley entrance to the apartment, where he immediately went around pulling the shades down and closing the curtains - just in case Yoko was in fact paying someone to spy on him. He had told Yoko he would be gone for two weeks, as he had promised her he would, and she had been eerily calm about it. It was harder saying goodbye to Sean. But he had plans up his sleeve to make the whole thing less traumatic for his son.  
  
 Paul wasn’t going to arrive until much later, but John wanted the place to feel warm and homey by the time Paul got there. He unpacked his suitcase in the bedroom, and turned down the bed. He lit up lamps and strategically muted the lights. He had brought groceries, wine, and liquor that his P.A. had purchased for him. He actually went so far as to light aromatic candles in the bedroom and the front room, and he had also brought a number of sexual devices, lotions and ointments Jason had purchased for him from specialty shops. It was a little embarrassing asking Jason to do this for him, but John felt that it was fun for Jason to live vicariously through John’s fantasies. And one of John’s fantasies was to finally conquer his fear of being the dominant one in his sexual interactions with Paul. John knew what the fear was based on – the image of Paul pushing him away and then stomping out in disgust and never coming back.  
  
 John smirked to himself. Poor Paul. He had no idea what he was in for. But it was one of those now or never moments in their relationship. At some point the walls between them – the unacknowledged barriers they had thrown up over the tenure of their time together - had to be torn down, so newer, healthier constructs could be erected. At this moment, John wasn’t thinking of fixing what was broken inside him so as to work towards a healthier relationship with Paul, he was only thinking of the structural edifice that had grown up around his dynamic with Paul, which John had long ago sexualized. John didn’t realize that the reason he had sexualized his relationship with Paul to such an extreme extent was that this was the one area where Paul tended to really hold himself back from John. Thus, John needed Paul to capitulate to him on sexual matters in order to prove he was really John’s friend. This intricate dance was something John mused over when he was depressed. But when John was in one of his more manic phases, like now, he felt he could actually take _actions_ that would affect the course of events. John told himself that he had two weeks to do or die. He gave little thought to why he had come up with this artificial deadline. So, in his mind, he had two weeks to turn the tables, and “make” the relationship between them equal and strong. His goal was to erase the old boundaries the two of them had marked out, so that they could finally be as one.  
  
 Part of him – the part John wasn’t listening to at the moment - knew this was his magical thinking organ in the brain working overtime to delude him into a false sense of surety. But would Paul take one look at the whole setup and call his bluff? Some people thought Paul was not too smart because of his looks and that careless goofiness he exuded when he was the focus of attention, but John knew the depths of the man, respected his brain, and also understood that he was extremely intuitive. All John could hope for was that Paul would intuit what John was trying to do, and cooperate.  
  
 When everything was perfect, just the way he wanted it, John sat down on the sofa, and cozied under a throw blanket, sipping some aged whiskey. Any minute now, a key would turn in the door, and Paul would be there. He would be John’s for two whole weeks: 14 nights and 13 days. It seemed like an embarrassment of riches to John at that moment. He felt a bit like a man who had just crawled through the Sahara, and finally stumbled into an oasis.  


*****

  
 Paul’s forehead was leaning against the cold, fogged up window of the limo that was driving him from JFK airport into the City. While on any bridge approaching Manhattan at night, the traveller felt like he was suspended in dark space, with a constellation of bright lights dancing in the void ahead, and approaching quickly at the speed of light. The near panic attack he had experienced as he was parted from Linda had receded about two hours after the plane took off, and now he was feeling pretty much like an addict feels when he is on his way to make a score after trying for a long time to stay off drugs, guilt and doubt included.  
  
 Linda’s steady, unflinching and selfless love for him had shaken him to his inner core. Why was he still searching for more? John could never love him with the same dedication and resolve that Linda had. John was a flower, and Paul was a flower, and without a gardener to water them, they would be left to wilt in the hot sun. What was the point? Did he think that he could “do over” the past, and “do” it right this time? If so, he would need John’s cooperation, because John’s paranoia and lack of trust was at least as much to blame for their break up as Paul’s compartmentalizing and deflecting tactics. Paul sighed. Well, the next two weeks should be interesting, if nothing else. They hadn’t been alone together for that much time in over a decade.  
  
 Paul chuckled to himself as he wondered whether they’d last that long. Who’d be the first one to kick the other one out? Or would the newspaper headlines read in bold capital letters,  
  
 “ _EX-BEATLES DIE IN DOUBLE AXE MURDER!”_


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby, Let’s Play House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slash from start to finish; longer than usual; not for the shy ones; and may I remind you this is fiction? BTW, I want to thank - again - gaedhal (LJ) - who did a BETA review of my draft, and gave me some excellent suggestions and amendments. Thanks so much - if I make any embarrassing mistakes here, (the kind that would make gay men roll their eyes), it is my fault and not hers!

 Paul couldn’t find the key to the loft. He was fumbling with his keys, and weary beyond words, when the door opened and John was standing there. The two men’s eyes met for a few moments, before they both grinned, and John pulled Paul inside. Paul had to struggle to make sure his suitcase made it in the door along with him. Soon he was wrapped in John’s arms, and there was a different quality to their embrace. John’s assertive grasp was sending a message – a message that he was in charge and would be expecting some level of submission from Paul.  
  
 Paul tried to bury the thrill of sexual excitement this caused him; he wasn’t sure why being dragged into an embrace where he was the embracee rather than the embracer should send such a thrill down his spine. He was probably just exhausted from the emotional turmoil he’d experienced, and the jet lag. He was tired of making decisions and being assertive. He just wanted to coast for a while. If John was willing to pick up the slack, then Paul was willing to acquiesce.  
  
 John felt Paul’s submission to him, and it filled him with confidence. He had felt this way before – sometimes during Beatlemania when everything got wild and confusing, Paul would suddenly become lost and overwhelmed and he would look to John for leadership and support. Those moments had been few and far between, but John had strong warm memories of each such time.  
  
 John had a delicate task ahead of him. He decided he would dispense with words. The thoughts in his head were too embarrassing to say out loud. And since Paul’s exhaustion seemed to have already softened him up him for John’s plans, he might as well strike while the iron was hot. So to speak. He gradually pulled away from the embrace, and then without a word, gently took Paul’s hand and headed straight for the bedroom. Paul looked surprised at the move, but went willingly.  
  
 The bedroom looked like a staged set to Paul’s wondering eyes. The lights were mostly off or strategically muted, there were candles burning which gave off an erotic scent, and the bed covers were arranged just so. Paul turned his eyes on John, but John appeared to be avoiding his eyes. _He wants this to be impersonal,_ Paul thought to himself. _This is some kind of role play_. Paul cheered up inside; he was always up for kinky sex when it was voluntarily on offer, and just for fun.  
  
 John faced Paul and began to undress him. He removed the overcoat, pulled the sweater over Paul’s head and then his undershirt. He carefully folded these items and placed them on a chair. Paul just stood there and allowed himself to feel the tingle of John’s fingers lightly rasping across his skin. John’s busy fingers were now unbuttoning the waistband of Paul’s pants, and slowly undoing the zipper. Paul closed his eyes tight with the excitement. Not knowing what was coming next was so intoxicating that Paul could actually feel each pulse in his cock as it became engorged. John’s left hand only slightly skimmed over Paul’s cock as both hands reached to grab the waistband of the pants, and pull them down to Paul’s ankles. As John stood up again, he caused each of his hands to lightly trace Paul’s legs, and he noticed that Paul’s knees buckled for a brief moment as he did so.  
  
 John gently led Paul to the foot of the bed, and even more gently pushed Paul down on to it, so that he was sitting. John kneeled down on the floor, and removed Paul’s shoes and socks, and then pulled the pants off. Paul was now naked. John pushed Paul backwards on to the bed, and Paul was staring up at the ceiling. He heard John rustling as he folded up his bits of clothing and stacked them neatly on the chair.  
  
 “Paul?” John’s voice was a deep, hoarse whisper, and Paul opened his eyes to see John standing over him with eyes that reflected light from the candles burning on the tables on either side of the bed. John was fully clothed. “I’m going to bathe you.”  
  
 Paul blinked in surprise, but said nothing. John saw only deep, lazy passion reflected in Paul’s beautiful eyes, so he smiled very softly and went into the master bathroom, where he proceeded to fill up the tub with hot water. When the tub was full, he went back to where Paul was lying at the foot of the bed, on the verge of falling asleep, and helped him up, walking him to the tub. Paul noted that John was fully dressed, and his eyebrows asked the question.  
  
 “No, baby, this is just for you,” John whispered in an unfamiliar romantic voice. Blushing a bit with the whole John-being-romantic thing, Paul stepped into the tub, and soon John was rubbing Paul’s back with a soft cloth. The bathroom lights were off, and the only illumination was from the candles John had lit. Paul relaxed completely, and, pulling his knees up, putting his arms around his knees, he allowed his forehead to rest on the top of his knees as John’s erotic sponging began to search out other, more private, parts of his body. Paul heard moaning, and then realized it was coming from his own throat. How strange to be so disembodied that you didn’t recognize your own sounds. John gently pried Paul away from his knees, and persuaded Paul to lie back in the bathtub. This was new and strange to Paul. He had been bathed before, but only by women. This was unnerving and erotic, but he was a bit embarrassed by it as well. So he closed his eyes tight. If he didn’t watch it happening, maybe he could just focus on how it felt, as opposed to what it looked like.  
  
 John’s clothed hand found Paul’s testes, and then his penis. The soft and soapy material of the cloth caused flicks of friction and Paul found he was lifting up his pelvis to encourage John’s further activities in that area. John chuckled under his breath, which did cause Paul to feel a breath of embarrassment, but then John’s hand was rubbing soft circles in the soapy water on Paul’s lower belly. This, too, was strangely erotic. It was while he was doing this that John’s other hand began stroking and then massaging gently the sensitive skin around Paul's anus. Paul jumped a little at the first touch, but while John softly massaged the various erogenous zones, Paul settled down again and looked totally relaxed, his eyes closed and his mouth fallen open into a small “o”. It was at this moment that John took his index finger, which he had coated with a large amount of special waterproof lube, and, probing first, slowly pushed the finger into Paul’s anus.  
  
 Paul leapt up in a panicked surprise, and was staring at John with shock! John did not remove his finger. Paul ‘s hand moved down to push John’s hand away, but John just pushed his finger deeper into Paul’s hole. Paul’s hand had grabbed John’s left wrist, and was trying to push it away, but he didn’t have the right leverage and John refused to budge.  
  
 “ _Give off_!” Paul growled.  
  
 John’s eyes met Paul’s with a stubborn glint. “No.”  
  
 Paul blinked back in impotent indignation.  
  
 John smiled at Paul and said, his voice a persuasive low monotone, “Relax, Pud. It feels good if you don’t fight it. Lay back. It’s only one finger. Let yourself find out what it feels like.” Paul was shaking his head, “no”, and their locked stares reflected a war of wills. “Just lay back, and let me do this for one more minute. Then I’ll take my finger out. It’s really turning me on, Paul. Try to keep your mind open…”  
  
 John’s gentle assurances caused Paul, who had been grasping either side of the tub with a death grip, to slowly lean back and close his eyes. He forced himself to relax, although at first he was still peeking out from under his suspicious eyelashes to see what John was up to. Seemed like a weird thing for John to get off on, from Paul’s way of thinking, but he supposed he could tolerate almost _anything_ for one bloody minute if it brought pleasure to a sex partner. John’s finger began to probe, reaching and touching the interior walls of the rectum. Paul had no idea what he was doing, but so far – while it was most definitely weird and uncomfortable – it wasn’t unbearably painful, just kind of irritating, so he didn’t move.  
  
 John could feel the resistant tension in Paul’s entire body, and began to think that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He had never felt around for a man’s prostrate before, and had no real idea where it was. He’d seen the drawings in the book Jason had bought him, but John was never that good with anatomy, and this was no exception. His finger didn’t appear to be long enough, or he was groping around in the wrong area. He worried that his continued probings would only cause Paul more pain than pleasure. His finger was already in as far as he could reach it – and he had been trying to curl it around to the roof of the rectum - far enough to touch…  
  
 “Ahghghh!” Paul jerked up in the tub. Paul at that moment could not tell if it felt good or bad. It was just nothing he’d ever felt before, and it was _intense_.  
  
 John’s finger had finally found it – he could feel the organ pushing back as he pushed the spot a few times in a row – and Paul started jerking like he was being jabbed by a cattle prod with each stroke. Paul’s knees flew up and together instinctively.  
  
 “ _What the – fuck – are…you…doing?”_ Paul was pushing the sounds out of his mouth, his hands again griping the sides of the tub. He was huffing and blowing, trying to deal with the titillating tension that had built up in his lower belly.  
  
 John could tell Paul was close, because his cock was so hard it was curled up to his lower belly. It was time. John stopped what he was doing, and withdrew his finger.  
  
 “ _What?_ ” Paul was glaring at him like an angry puppy again. John grinned at him.  
  
 “I promised – only one more minute!” John stood up, and grabbed a bath towel, holding it open for Paul to step in to. Paul was in the awkward position of either demanding John finish him off – with a finger up his butt! – or pretend like this did not faze him in the slightest. Paul stood up, his hands unsuccessfully trying to hide his huge erection. John saw this and laughed out loud.  
  
 “They can see that thing from outer space, Paul! Stupid to try to hide it. Here, give me your arm, and I’ll help you out. Don’t want you to slip and crack your head open, now, do we?” Paul was a little pissed at John for all this tomfoolery, but in the back of his head he was thinking to himself, “is _that_ why John likes to be fucked up the ass?”  
  
 John led Paul back to the foot of the bed, and pushed him down and back again, so that Paul ‘s legs were dangling over the edge. This was a perfect position for what John had in mind. He knelt on the floor between Paul’s legs, and allowed each hand to trace itself up one of Paul’s inner legs, until they reached his thighs. Then John used these hands to gently but firmly pry Paul’s thighs further apart. He heard a groan from the general direction of Paul’s head, and smiled. John’s own cock was starting to strain inside his pants, but he urged himself to calm down. He wanted this to be a _very_ long night.  
  
 John gazed lovingly at Paul’s erect cock. How amazingly beautiful the ugly thing is, he thought. It ought to be repellant, but it’s brute functionality (the perfect tool for the right job) gave it a kind of objective beauty, sort of like a machine could be beautiful although made up of nuts, and bolts, and cold pieces of metal and plastic. John had never really looked at other men’s genitals before. It was considered impolite. A quick sideways glance to assure yourself that the other bloke’s wasn’t bigger than yours, but that was it. So having this up close and personal opportunity to just pause and admire the thing was a treat. It looked so different from his own cock, because there was no foreskin. John had never seen what his own cock would look like if it were completely unsheathed. He wondered if Paul experienced sex differently than he did because of this.  
  
 John brought himself back to the task at hand, having successfully calmed down his libido a bit. He noticed that Paul was shivering, and there were goose bumps on his inner thighs, and the chill had melted Paul’s hard on a little. John smiled. This was working out perfectly. Paul had no idea what he was in for. John started by squeezing some lube on the palm of his left hand.  
  
 Slowly, _maddeningly_ slowly from Paul’s perspective, the fingers of John’s left hand moved upward from the inner thigh to stop at the base of Paul’s semi-erect cock. John grasped the cock, and smeared lube all over the base. With his other hand he brought out something from his pocket. Holding Paul’s cock in place at its root, John took a little strap of soft leather and, circling the strap around the base of the cock, used the snap to enclose the semi-erect member. Paul felt the pressure, however. He jumped on to his elbows and stared at his cock.  
  
 “ _What_?” Paul was alarmed. This was not what he was expecting at all. He had been anticipating a blow job.  
  
 John’s chuckle was deep in his throat.  
  
 “ _What the fuck are you doing?_ ” Paul demanded, in anything but a romantic voice. John sure knew how to spoil a mood!  
  
 John pushed Paul backwards on the bed again, and this time leaned over him, one arm on either side of Paul’s head. He said with a very firm but calm voice, “Relax, Pud. It’s just a cock ring. Haven’t you ever heard of them before?” Paul searched his brain. He had heard of them before, but really hadn’t bothered to figure out what the hell they were. “I’m wearing one, too. All it does is sustain your erection.”  
  
 “ _What_ erection?” Paul grumbled angrily under his breath. But he subsided. He was obviously going to “wait and see”. John smiled to himself, and went back to kneeling on the floor between Paul’s legs. That cock ring sure looked hot on Paul’s dick, especially since he knew it were _his_ cock ring, _he’d_ put it there, as if he were planting his flag on the top of Paul’s mountain.   
  
 John then finally decided to give Paul’s cock a little attention. He needed to get the mood back, and a little attention in that direction would no doubt smooth out Paul’s growing concern about what the hell was going on. John knew how Paul’s mind worked, and he could tell by the stiffness in Paul’s joints that he was suspicious of what John was up to. He was no longer content to just lie back and be submissive. John was fine with that. A little pushback would make the whole experience even better. Gently massaging Paul’s dick, he slipped his mouth over the tip of Paul’s cock and began to flick it with his tongue. Paul groaned, and the cock began to engorge again. John’s mouth swallowed the entire head of the cock, and he began to suck and then breath cool air on it for a few moments, further exacerbating Paul’s growing excitement. He then stopped.  
  
 He took something else out of his pocket. It looked like a miniature smooth plastic rocket ship standing up just before blast off. John examined the piece of red plastic and smiled at his own imagery. Paul was moving restlessly on the bed, missing John’s mouth, so John leaned forward and pulled Paul’s cock in his mouth and plunged his throat down so that his lips ended about 2/3rds of the way down Paul’s dick, and just above the cock ring. He sucked hard and then allowed his saliva to run down the sides of Paul’s cock, and then sucked hard again. Paul was beginning to understand the cock ring. His erection had grown so hard, and the ring held it erect at its base, and restricted the blood flow. No way could he cum through that bottleneck! It felt like handcuffs on his dick! He squirmed in a kind of panic, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. John had been left too long on his own…his imagination had run wild…  
  
 John removed his mouth from Paul’s dick, and gave it a silly kiss right on the tip. “Be patient, luv, I’m busy right now.”  
  
 Again Paul was up on his elbows looking down at his crotch area to see what John was doing. John had pulled a tube out of his pocket, and the tube had lube in it. Paul watched as John slathered lube all over a little piece of red plastic. _What the hell is that?_ Before he could ask, John was slathering lube – a whole lot of lube – all over his fingers. He grabbed Paul’s dick again, and Paul fell backwards in shock. John took that moment to push Paul’s thighs up so his feet were on the edge of the bed. He then grabbed Paul’s dick again, holding it up straight, while his elbows kept Paul’s thighs separated. With his right hand, he held the little red rocket ship, and after probing the area for a moment – causing Paul to try to sit up again – he shoved the little red rocket up Paul’s ass as carefully as he could. Paul flew up from the mattress, but John pushed him back again, straddling him with one leg on either side of Paul as John pulled off his T-shirt in one swift gesture.  
  
 “ _Take that ou…_!” Paul’s strangled voice was shut up in mid-demand by John’s equally demanding kiss. Paul struggled against John’s strength. John was now holding Paul’s upper arms pinned against the mattress, and his legs were wrapped around Paul’s thighs in a tight, pincer movement that completely disabled Paul’s attempts to escape. Paul’s struggles were turning on John no end. He felt waves of testosterone rushing through him, and his own cock – also controlled by a cock ring – was throbbing in delirious pleasure. John’s mouth was all over Paul’s face, ears, neck. The saliva was leaving a trail wherever he went. Paul was struck dumb, and while occasionally bucking and pushing in attempts to break loose, he also found that his traitorous body was fully aroused and was reveling in John’s complete dominance.  
  
 John finally broke away from his slobbering tonguing of Paul’s face and neck, and squeezed Paul’s wrists as they were pinned to the mattress. This caused Paul’s eyes to open. John brought his eyes down so they were only a few inches away from Paul’s. “So this is how it is going to be tonight. You will be mine, but I am breaking you in gently, I promise. But the more you fight me, the more it will hurt.”  
  
 Paul’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “What’s gotten into you?” he managed to force out of his blocked throat.  
   
 “I should have done this years ago. I should have done this to you in Paris, I should have done this in London, and I most certainly should have done this that day when you told me you wouldn’t be my lover anymore.”  
  
 Paul remained speechless. He was staring at John with a look of complete surprise on his face. John smiled then, and kissed him demurely on his lips. He then let go of Paul’s arms, and, pushing up to his knees on the bed, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled the zipper down. He pushed his pants down far enough to display his own aroused cock, also confined by a cock ring. Paul’s eyes grew huge in their sockets, and his hand reached up to touch John’s cock, instinctively pushing down the foreskin, and caressing the inner organ. He had stopped struggling, but he looked a little scared. John stood up and then kicked his pants to the corner, and urged Paul to move up towards the headboard. Paul groaned with discomfort as he felt the object in his anus, but he moved. John was fully naked now, and again straddling Paul’s body, he allowed his aroused cock to play with Paul’s. This was familiar territory for both men, and he saw the fear leaving Paul’s face, and could sense the tension slowly but surely leaving Paul’s body. John leaned down until he was lying on top of Paul, he kissed him passionately on the side of his neck and then whispered in Paul’s ear.  
  
 “Don’t worry, baby, I’m not going to fuck you tonight. You’re not ready for that. That’s what the butt plug is for – to get you ready for me.”  
  
 Paul was silent, but looked perplexed and still a little worried. John feathered kisses all over his face, and started nibbling on his ears, his neck, moved down to Paul’s nipples. These were serious erogenous zones for Paul, and John never failed to pay them the appropriate amount of attention whenever they made love. As he kissed and bit the nipples, both of which were standing at attention, he mumbled, “I’ve got a surprise for your nipples, too,” and then he looked up and smiled at Paul. “But not tonight.”  
  
 A thrill fluttered in Paul’s lower stomach as John leaned in to kiss him deeply, his tongue going deep into Paul’s throat, and John’s hands holding either side of Paul’s head so he could not move or avoid the intensity of John’s kiss. Something in Paul just turned off. It was his ever-present ego monitor. Slowly his fingers curled over John’s hands, and he allowed his body to melt into the mattress. His brain had stopped talking, and now he only felt things, wonderful things, things he had never felt before. Without thinking, he found himself pulling up his legs, and locking his thighs around John’s lower back. John moaned deep in Paul’s throat, and their cocks began to squirm and rub, squirm and rub, until Paul’s ass was lifting off the mattress, and the sensation of the butt plug in his ass was erotic. The damn cock rings were a hindrance now, so in a sudden rush of energy, John pulled them both off, throwing them over his shoulder. He then grabbed the tiny bottles he had set up on the bedside table, and he handed one to Paul and kept one himself. “When you’re ready to cum,” he whispered, “pop the lid and hold it under your nose.” Paul had heard of poppers before, and was not averse to experiencing it. The two men, grabbed each other’s cocks, and began pumping. John was on top, pretending in his fantasy that he was fucking Paul’s ass while Paul pumped his cock. John felt he was about to come and so he popped the top of the little bottle and inhaled; Paul did the same seconds later. The smell was like dirty socks, but the kick it delivered was tremendous. The lovers were making all sorts of unintelligible noises, frantically rubbing their bodies together, while they road the wild wave of their mind-blowing orgasms.  
  
 John had no energy left. He couldn’t even move his heft off of Paul, so he just sunk right into Paul’s chest and – his hands still cradling Paul’s head – moved his thumbs back and forth along Paul’s jawline, slowly and rhythmically until their pounding hearts quietened, and their breathing shallowed. Several minutes went by before Paul finally spoke in an exhausted, but clearly satisfied, voice.  
  
 “Please take that fucking thing out of my ass.”  
  
 John didn’t move, but he smiled to himself. Paul elbowed him, and John said quietly. “No. The butt plug stays in.”  
  
 “John, I don’t wa…” John managed to lift his head up, and he kissed Paul on the nose, and said in the sweetest possible voice,  
  
 “What you think you want is irrelevant. You’re gonna keep that thing up your butt until I say it’s ready to come out.”  
  
 Paul’s face collapsed into his puppy-pout again, causing John to smile and kiss him again.  
  
 “Sorry, love, your ass belongs to me, now.”  
  
 “Hurrumph.” Paul made a grouchy sound in his throat. But then a mischievous expression passed over his face. “If you think you’re gonna fuck me, John, you’re gonna have to catch me first.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two and a Half Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that some of you object to the depiction of the kids in John/Paul fics. I have strong reservations as well. One of the difficulties of writing about this later period in the lives of John and Paul, however, is that they had these children, and they were a very important part of their lives, and no matter what would have happened if John hadn't died, the kids would have figured heavily in any reunion between John and Paul, so I cannot realistically write about the period without addressing that issue. I am trying to be respectful, but if you object to the inclusion of a Beatle kid, you should skip this chapter.

 “Would you mind if I brought Sean over for the day and to spend the night?” John hadn’t expected to feel so nervous about making the request. It was his first morning together with Paul, and John was scrambling eggs, having decided to drop the Yoko diet for the whole two weeks. (This made him smile; Yoko had her macrobiotic diet, and Paul had his vegetarian diet. Between the two of them he might just starve to death.)  
  
 Paul’s head jerked up from the newspaper. “How can you arrange that?” He was the picture of anxiety.  
  
 “I’ll meet his nanny in the park, and bring him home with me. She can pick him up tomorrow morning when I meet her in the park. I’ve got it worked out with her.”  
  
 Paul didn’t know what to make of this suggestion. It seemed a little wrong to bring Sean into their “sex nest”, especially given the now-eroticized nature of the sofa, the dining room table, the wall in the hallway… But, Paul supposed, upon reflection, that he and John could keep their hands off each other for one day and night. He could sleep in the extra bedroom, and John could share the master with Sean. Still…  
  
 “Why?” Paul asked.  
  
 “I’ll miss him if I don’t see him a few times during my stay here…” John said.  
  
 Paul thought, _yeah, like I miss my kids who are 5000 miles away_… But he let that go.  
  
 John continued, “…but mainly, I want you to meet him, and for him to know you.”  
  
 Paul was touched by what John had said. “I saw him in 1976, I think it was…”  
  
 “He was a baby then, and now he’s 7½. He’s like a little man.”  
   
 Paul smiled at the image, thinking of his 5½ year-old son at home. “Okay, if you think it won’t he weird for Sean to be staying in this strange flat with a complete stranger.”  
  
 John considered this. “He’s stayed in hotels with me before – he’ll be fine. And you’ll only be a stranger for an hour at most. Kids always like you.”  
  
 “Yeah, okay, but John…”  
  
 “Hmmm?” John was dishing out the eggs and buttering toast for the two of them.  
  
 “I’m gonna take this fuckin’ butt plug thingie out while Sean is here. That’s not even debatable.”  
  
 John laughed out loud. “No, _I’ll_ take it out – it’s _my_ property! And then I’ll put an even _bigger_ one in after Sean goes home.”  
  
 Paul was blushing. He was embarrassed about the whole subject of his asshole. He’d never felt sexually subordinate to or possessed by someone before. He’d always been the possessor. It wasn’t so much that he disliked it; it was just bewildering, the emotional place it left him in.  


*****

  
 After John left to meet Sean in the park, Paul put the stereo on because the music would blot out the anxious thoughts in his mind. The anxiety wasn’t related to Sean, it was related to this new chamber in his relationship with John he had entered. It wasn’t long, however, before Paul heard John’s voice in the hall outside their door, and a young boy’s voice in response. Paul decided to pick up a magazine and look chilled out, because kids never liked it when new grown-ups moved into their space and fawned over them.  
  
 “Paul!” John announced as he entered the loft. He watched as Paul looked up from a magazine. “Meet Sean!” John led his son over to where Paul was sitting.  
  
 Sean was a beautiful child, Paul thought right away. He seemed to have inherited the best facial features of each of his parents. He also saw a very confident person shining out of the boy’s eyes. And he was curious, which to Paul’s way of thinking, connoted intelligence.  
  
 “Sean, this is my best friend in the whole world, Paul. I told you about him.”  
  
 Paul reached out his hand, and Sean, pleased by this sign that he was regarded as an equal, responded in kind, and they shook hands. Paul gave Sean one of his ‘ _you and I see the joke in all this’_ smiles and Sean smiled back in an uncomplicated way.  
  
 “You’re a musician too,” Sean said shyly.  
  
 Paul shot John an amused glance, but then answered seriously, “Yes, I’ve been known to hum a few bars…”  
  
 “You’re one of the Beatles, aren’t you?”  
  
 “Yup. Your dad and me used to write songs together.”  
  
 “He told me, I’ve heard your music.” Sean stared openly at Paul, satisfying his years-long curiosity. He had heard a lot about Paul, and had seen many photos of him. His Dad talked constantly about him, and Sean almost felt as though he knew him because of this.  
  
 “Sean is thirsty, so I’m going to pour him some juice. Do you want some Paul?” Paul nodded in the affirmative, and John wandered over to the kitchen area. Paul patted the sofa next to him, and Sean took the invitation, and perched on the edge of the sofa.  
  
 Paul turned to face Sean, and presented an interested, but not _too_ interested, mien. “How’s school, Sean?”  
  
 “I’m tutored at home.”  
  
 This took Paul completely by surprise. “You _what?_ ” Paul’s face exposed his confusion. Sean giggled at the look on Paul’s face. His eyebrows went way up – like they might even fly off his face!  
  
 “I have a tutor,” Sean repeated.  
  
 Paul schooled his expressive face. “So, who do you play with?” Paul asked.  
  
 “I have some friends in the neighborhood, I see them on weekends sometimes. I sometimes play in the park during the week, but mostly I play with my Pac-Man machine and Legos.”  
  
 Paul was horrified and was trying to hide it. He knew John hated school, and figured that this was John’s way of protecting Sean from something he – John – had hated. But not all kids are alike! Most kids want to have frequent social interaction with people their own age. _None of my business. Drop it!_  
  
 “So, do you have any pets?” Paul tried again.  
  
 “I had a little green turtle once, but it died.” Sean did not look particularly upset about it. Paul had visions of his daughter Stella with a puffy red face having a drama queen moment over the loss of a pet budgie, and how he had to orchestrate an entire funeral in the garden, complete with music (he had played a fife) and dog and cat attendees, in order to calm her down. Sean was…a different kind of kid. But, he _was_ John and Yoko’s kid, so somehow that made sense…  
  
 “My dad has cats. He has two, now, but he used to have three. One of them jumped out the window chasing a bird.”  
Paul saw that Sean’s face showed empathy in it. While he may not have been attached to his turtle, Sean did appreciate that his father was attached to his cats. “Do you have any pets?” Sean asked politely.  
  
 Paul snorted. “Do we have any pets… _ha_! My family is _loaded_ with pets. We have horses, ponies, dogs, cats, birds, fish, lizards, hamsters, rabbits, cows, pigs, sheep…”  
  
 “ _Pigs?_ _Sheep?_ ” Sean’s eyes were round. He was trying to figure out how you’d fit all these animals in to an apartment. And how’d you even get ‘em in an elevator? Wouldn’t the neighbors complain?  
  
 Paul laughed easily at Sean’s face. _City boy!_   “We even have peacocks! My family lives on a farm in Scotland sometimes, and we have a house in the country near London with acres of land. So there is plenty of room for all kinds of animals.”  
  
 “ _Peacocks_ …” Sean’s face was filled with wonder and admiration. “I’ve seen a few at the zoo…” His voice was wistful.  
  
 “Zoos are okay, but animals are better to look at when they’re not in a cage, don’t you think? Where they feel most comfortable?” Paul asked the question as if he was talking to an intelligent adult. Sean appreciated this.  
  
 “I see animals in the park, but they run away from people.”  
  
 “People aren’t always kind to animals,” Paul suggested. “I think they’re mainly being careful when they hide from us.”  
  
 Sean nodded in agreement with this assessment. “You live on a _farm_?” He asked, his face alive with a sweet kind of envy.  
  
 “Sometimes. We have sheep there, and we sell their wool. In exchange, we feed them and take care of them.”  
  
 “Do you ever eat them?” Sean asked, remembering a book he read about farms, and how the families on farms lived off the land and the animals to survive.  
  
 “Oh good heavens no!” Paul laughed. “My wife and I love animals too much to eat them, and it would make our children cry.”  
  
 “How many children do you _have_?” Sean figured there must be a whole lot of ‘em to take care of so many pets.  
  
 “Four. Three girls, and a boy, and he’s just a bit younger than you are.” Paul’s face lit up with affection as he thought of his children.  
  
 Sean’s head was cocked to the side, as if he were trying to take the measure of this man. He loved to look at the man’s face. It was friendly and, unlike with most adults, you could see all kinds of expressions on it.  
  
 John had been monitoring the conversation from the kitchen, having long since poured out three glasses of juice. He noticed the quiet pause in the conversation, and decided it was time to rejoin the two of them. Just as he had predicted to himself, Sean was captivated by Paul. John could see all the signs on Sean’s face, and in his body language.  
  
 Over the next few hours, Sean was full of questions. _Was this Paul’s apartment? Why didn’t he have more stuff? Why are the blinds and curtains closed? If Paul was a musician,_ _where were his instruments? And how could he live here, if he lived in Scotland and London? Where were his wife and kids right now? Why weren’t they here?_ John was hiding his irritation with Sean’s probing questions, because he was afraid they would guilt Paul into retreating back to his family.  
  
 But Paul took all of Sean’s questions in stride, John noticed, providing true but succinct answers. _Yes, this is my apartment, but it is what is known as a pied a terre – it’s a home you buy because you visit a large town regularly but you live somewhere else. That’s why I don’t have much stuff here. The curtains are closed because I have nosy neighbors, and all you’d see anyway would be the side of a brick building and other people’s windows. I don’t have instruments here, because I come for pleasure, not work. I only visit here for parts of the year, and my wife and kids stay in England because they have to go to school._ Sean was thoroughly satisfied with Paul’s answers, and he eventually stopped asking new ones.  
  
 In the late afternoon, Paul suggested they order pizza and watch a movie. “I want to rent one where lots of things crash and explode,” Paul warned John. “None of your artsy-fartsy films, John.”   
  
 Sean laughed and pumped his fist. “Yeah! Crashes and explosions!”  
  
 “And _car chases_!” Paul added, and then he and Sean did a double high five.  
  
 “Paul, can we talk in the bedroom, please?” John didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed Paul’s arm by the wrist and began to pull him away. Paul gave Sean an _oops I’m in trouble_ look and mouthed the words “ _help me_!” which caused Sean to giggle and then laugh out loud. John dragged Paul into the bedroom, and closed the door.  
  
 “Look, I know what you’re trying to do…”  
  
 “You do?” Paul looked genuinely surprised. “What am I trying to do?” The question was sincere.  
  
 “You’re trying to make friends with Sean, so you’re bucking up against my rules.”  
  
 “Rules? You have _rules_?” Paul was utterly stunned. As long as he’d known John, he had _hated_ rules.  
  
 “Yoko and I don’t approve of violence in films for children. It brutalizes them.”  
  
 “It does?” Paul was thinking of the crap he and Linda let their children watch. His kids didn’t appear to be brutalized. But then…  
  
 “John, have you ever _watched_ cartoons? They’re always bopping each other over the head, and driving themselves off cliffs, and shooting each other at close range, except only the word ‘bang’ comes out of the gun instead of a bullet. Kids have been growing up with visual violence for decades. Have we _all_ been _‘_ brutalized’?”  
  
 “In my opinion, yes. But it’s our rule, and it is how we want to bring him up.”  
  
 Paul looked frustrated now. “He’ll be the weirdest kid on the block, John. He’ll be like that kid we knew in Liverpool, whose mum made him wear weird clothes all the time, even out to play, and didn’t let him listen to rock ‘n roll. If I remember correctly, you’re the one who taunted him the most!”  
  
 John had a guilty recollection of that sort.  
  
 Paul continued: “It’s not gonna kill him to watch one guy flick. It’s bad enough he doesn’t have school friends to play with…”  
  
 “What? What did you say?” John was angry now.  
  
 “You heard me. You’re turning him into a museum piece. He’s a great kid; a curious kid. You should let him have more kid fun.” Paul’s clever mind made a quick connection, and soon he was singing… _“fun is the one thing that money can’t buy…”_  
  
 “So, here we go. Five hours and now you’re an expert on my son. You’re _still_ a fuckin’ know-it-all…”  
  
 Paul suddenly noticed that this wasn’t one of their usual arguments where they deliberately tried to bait and “dis” each other. John was taking this personally. He stepped back.  
  
 “You’re right. I’m wrong. I shouldn’t interfere. I’m sorry.” Paul’s face was sober and sincere.  
  
 John stared at him for a bit, kind of disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to go into one of his rants about Paul’s perfection. Then he smiled and relaxed.  
  
 “I shouldn’t have said that, babe. I do value your opinion. You know a lot about kids that I don’t.” He saw Paul’s grateful expression and smiled again. “Ok, it won’t kill him to see one blow ‘em up movie. But we don’t have any here. How do we get one?”  
  
 “Send your p.a. out to rent one and bring it over?”  
  
 “ _Here?_ ” John was scandalized.  
  
 “Or, we could go out and…”  
  
 “No! I’ll call and have him rent one…but this is gonna open up a can of worms. He’s not gonna keep his big mouth shut. He’s gonna tell Yoko.”  
  
 “I thought Yoko already knew?” Paul had a sinking feeling in his stomach.  
  
 “She doesn’t know about this loft, Paul. I don’t want her to know where it is.” John didn’t need to explain that. Paul had already figured that out when he saw that John had closed all the blinds and curtains, even in the day.  
  
 “I wouldn’t bet that she doesn’t already know, or that she won’t know by the end of these two weeks. What’s she gonna do?”  
  
 John knew that what Paul said made sense, but he had a rather expansive view of Yoko’s powers. To him, it was like taking the lord’s name in vain.   


*****

  
  
  _John knew that what Paul said made sense, but he had a rather expansive view of Yoko’s powers. To him, it was like taking the lord’s name in vain..._ Still, Paul had a way of making him feel that he could actually do things himself, so he agreed to call his p.a. and have him bring over a suitably inane and unnecessarily loud action video. He then called in a pizza order.  
  
 When he was done with this, he found Paul and Sean lying on the floor in the living area, playing with a miniature chess set Sean had brought with him.  
  
 “Check mate!” Sean shouted out.  
  
 “Not again!” Paul shouted in response. “I haven’t even set up me pieces yet!”  
  
 John shook his head, swallowing the laugh in his throat, and moved over to the sofa, where he opened the book he was reading about male sexuality. He was picking up all sorts of useful tips, but the outside of the book looked very nonfiction and intellectual-like. Every once in a while he looked up over his book to watch Paul and Sean absorbed in their game. Sean kept stomping Paul’s ass. _At least one Lennon can get the best of him in something_ , John snickered to himself.  
  
 “The least you can do is let me set up me pieces, and play a few rounds, before you check me,” Paul said in a petulant tone. Sean was laughing, because it was funny that an adult was such a sore loser. Most of them pretended to be good sports, but in Sean’s experience, nobody really liked to lose.  
  
 Before long the doorbell rang, and the pizzas were there – one with only vegetables on it, and one with all kinds of stuff on it that were bad for you. John understood that he was suddenly forced into the parental role, since Paul had apparently reverted to a 10 year-old. He laid out plates, and gave a vegetarian piece to Paul, and a deluxe piece to Sean. He set them up on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and urged the two boys to come and eat.  
  
 “One more minute, please. I’m just about to check him, Dad,” Sean said.  
  
 “Yeah, like _that’s_ never happened before,” Paul muttered grumpily.  
  
 A moment later, after Sean had again taken Paul’s King, they found their way to the coffee table, Paul moving on his knees, much to Sean’s amusement. What a weird grown up! He was more like a child!  
  
 The doorbell rang again, and John went to answer. His p.a. was standing in the hallway holding a few videotapes. His face was alive with curiosity. John had barely opened the door, and was trying to cut off his p.a.’s vision into the apartment. Sean and Paul were making loud, cheerful conversation, and this caused the p.a. to try to peek around the door to see what was going on and who was there.  
  
 “Thanks, Fred,” John said, trying to close the door. Fred looked extremely disappointed. Suddenly he saw – yes! – it was Paul McCartney staring at him over John’s shoulder! “Paul, go back inside,” John whispered harshly.  
  
 “It’s too late, John, he’s already seen me. Why are you keeping him out there in the hall?”  
  
 John turned to glare at Paul, but Paul was ignoring him. “Hi, I’m Paul. And you are?”  
  
 “Fred.”  
  
  
 “Do you want to come in? We have pizza and we’re going to watch one of these movies you brought us.”  
  
 Fred looked at John who, sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and nodded to Fred that it was okay to come in.  
  
 “Hi Fred!” Sean said, talking with his mouth full of food. He gave a little wave.  
  
 Fred was looking around him at the loft, his face a picture of perplexity. John noticed this and sighed and shook his head again. Well, so much for compartmentalizing this aspect of his life from his other life. Paul had pretty much brought that flimsy curtain down in one fell swoop. Strangely, this gave John a crazy sense of freedom. Why live in fear?  
  
 For the next two hours John, Paul, Sean and Fred enjoyed a perfectly stupid action film. They were all cheering for the crashes and the explosions. Sean had even decided to eat the vegetarian pizza, because Paul was. It was after 10 p.m., and John suggested that Fred go home. He then pointed out that it was way past Sean’s bedtime. Sean was philosophic about this; he had already been allowed to stay up much longer than usual. He had been given pizza to eat, and exploding tankers to watch! This was like the best day of his life ever!  
  
 John headed for the guest suite to get it ready and was surprised to find Paul in there, setting up some personal items in the en suite. “What are you doing here?”  
  
 Paul said, “Making room for Sean in the other room,” Paul responded.  
  
 “You plan on sleeping in _here?_ ” John was amazed.  
  
 “Well, we can’t sleep together, John. Not with Sean here.”  
   
 John had not considered that. But he didn’t see this as a problem, really. “Why not? He’ll be in his room, and we’ll be in our room. We’ll lock the door.”  
  
 “And if he needs you in the middle of the night? This is a strange place for him, and he’ll probably wake up and be totally disoriented.”  
   
 “Shit, Paul, you can find problems in places no one else would ever think to look. You’re sleeping with me, and we’re not going to switch everything around. Sean will be fine.”  
  
 Paul wanted to object, but Sean came in and hopped on the bed. Unless he was willing to fight with John in front of Sean, he had to give in. Feeling grave misgivings, he took his toiletries back to the master bathroom.  
  
 John was tucking Sean into bed when Paul came in and joined them. He knelt on the floor, his elbows and forearms on the bed, as John was talking softly to Sean. “Do you want a story or a song?” John asked.  
   
 “A song!” Sean shouted out. “I want Paul to sing!”  
 John looked at Paul, and Paul looked at John, and then Paul said, “How ‘bout we sing together?”  
  
 Sean was very excited about that idea.  
  
 “We haven’t got a guitar, Paul.” John said.  
  
 “So we sing _a cappella_. We’ve done that before,” Paul pointed out reasonably. “How about the Everly Brothers? ‘ _Let It Be Me_.’”  
  
 “I don’t remember the lyrics…”  
  
 “Just start singing. They’ll come to you.”  
  
 “You start.”  
  
 Paul made an exaggerated sigh and gave a _can you believe this guy_ look to Sean, who giggled, and then Paul made a big show of clearing his throat and working his vocal cords, further amusing Sean.  
  
 In his pure, sweet tenor voice, Paul started softly,  


_I bless the day I found you_  
_I want to stay around you_  
_And so I beg you, let it be me_

  
 John joined in for the second verse, in perfect harmony with Paul’s higher voice.  
  


_Don't take this heaven from one_  
_If you must cling to someone_  
_Now and forever, let it be me_

  
 John forgot the middle eight, so he stopped to allow Paul to solo.   
  


_Each time we meet love_  
_I find complete love_  
_Without your sweet love,_  
_What would life be?_

  
 John joined back in for the next verse.  
  


_So never leave me lonely_  
_Tell me you love me only_  
_And that you'll always, let it be me_

  
 This time, John was able to sing the middle eight with Paul.  
  


_Each time we meet love_  
_I find complete love_  
_Without your sweet love,_  
_What would life be?_  
  
_So never leave me lonely_  
_Tell me you love me only_  
_And that you'll always---let--it—be—me_

  
 Sean was transfixed by the beauty of the melody and the harmony, and his eyes were wide by the time they finished.  
  
 “You guys are _good_ ,” he said in an awe-filled voice.  
  
 Paul laughed, and John said, “So we’ve been told, once or twice.” He then leaned over and kissed Sean goodnight. Paul put his hand up for a high five, which Sean answered with a smile.  
  
 They left Sean’s door open a few inches, and made sure the nightlight was working in the hallway, and they went in to their bedroom. John had a lascivious expression on his face as Paul stripped down and reached for pajama bottoms and a t-shirt.  
  
 “Really?” John asked, gesturing to the nightwear.  
  
 “Yes, _really_ ,” Paul said firmly, “and you too.”  
  
 “I’m only gonna take them off you, you know.”  
  
 “Don’t even _think_ about it John! It’s not gonna happen!”  
  
 Famous last words.  
  
 Paul had gotten in to bed, and turned on to his side, facing away from John’s side of the bed. John got in naked, and chuckled at Paul’s back. He scooted over to Paul’s side and spooned him.  
  
 “John! Sean could come in at any moment.”  
  
 “I locked the door.”  
  
 “You can’t lock the door on small children in the middle of the night, John!” Paul threw back his covers and stomped over to the door, and unlocked it, and then stomped back to the bed.  
John was laughing the whole time.  
  
 “You’re an idiot, Paul, at least lets fuck first and _then_ unlock the door.”  
  
 “We’re not gonna fuck at all, John. We’re going to go to sleep. And put some clothes on!”  
  
 “Can’t we fool around a little? _Then_ I’ll put some clothes on. It’s called a com-pro-mise. Should I spell it?”  
  
 Paul’s back was still to John, but John’s naked body was all over him, and he was making little attempts to tickle Paul in naughty places. Paul kept slapping away John’s hands, which only made John giggle more, and redouble his efforts to mess around with Paul’s privates. The slap and tickle went on for a good minute or two before Paul started giggling too. He finally gave in.  
  
 “Oh, fuck it. Get your ass over here, John!”  
  
 “Ya-hoo!” John yodeled, and literally jumped on Paul.  
  
 “Oomph! You’re a bloody great baboon, Johnny. What the hell am I gonna do with you?”  
  
 “I’ve got a lot of good ideas,” John offered.  
  
 “Shut it,” Paul laughed, and said, “Let’s just wank each other,” Paul said. “It isn’t as dangerous as anything else.”  
  
 John realized that he was lucky to get even a wank out of the tight-assed pretty boy, so he spun out of bed and locked the door, and then cuddled up to Paul on his side. “You gotta face me, Puddin’,” John growled in a sensual voice.  
  
 Paul turned on his side, and soon they had moved together so that their noses were almost touching. John’s eyes smiled in a wanton way into Paul’s, and Paul shook his head in amusement. Paul reached out and placed his left hand on John’s sternum. He slowly allowed the fingers to trace their way down towards John’s pelvic area.  
  
 “I’ve been dying for this all day,” John whispered, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Ahhh, baby, come on…”  
  
 Obediently, Paul grasped John’s cock, and caressed it gently. He stopped for a moment to put some oil on his hand. John groaned when he saw what Paul was doing, and then put his hand out for some oil, too. Paul obliged. The oil smelled like sandalwood as it warmed up with all the mutual rubbing going on. There were groans and moans emitted from both throats. John made one particularly loud sound, and Paul shushed him – his eyebrows gesturing towards the guest suite. John made a face, but quieted his sounds of pleasure.  
  
 John liked to talk dirty when he was wanking with Paul. He always _thought_ dirty when he was masturbating, but there was something especially liberating about letting the words escape. “ _You’ve got one big honking dick, luv, its fucking huge, I love it when you stick it up my ass_...”  
  
 Paul was always a bit taken aback by all this naughty talk. It seemed to excite John, and he didn’t begrudge him the pleasure, but it always made Paul feel a bit silly. Paul knew that his dick was pretty normal-sized, and he had no pretensions otherwise. Paul decided to shut John up, so he moved in and started kissing him, and John responded enthusiastically. The rhythm of the mutual wanking increased, and the breathing became quick and shallow. John let go of Paul a moment to move his hand over Paul’s left buttock, and pull down Paul’s pajama bottoms. He then used his foot to remove them entirely, while his hand went back to work on Paul’s dick. The breathing got heavier, faster, breathier, and the noises became more urgent, animalistic and uncontrolled. They both came shortly thereafter, with John swearing “ _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ ” repeatedly for 20 seconds, and Paul keening low in his throat. John’s arms traveled up from Paul’s bum to Paul’s back.  
  
 “The door,” Paul whispered. John groaned, but rolled out of bed and went to unlock the door. He stumbled back into the bed, and moved over towards Paul, putting his arms around him. They kissed each other passionately and then slowly, gradually, each fell asleep in the other’s arms. They had forgotten all about their pajamas.  
  


*****

  
 “Dad?... _Dad!_ ”  
  
 John was slowly waking up as if from a cloudy dream. He felt Paul’s heart beating beneath his hands, and he realized he was spooning him. _Was Paul calling him ‘Dad_ ’?  
  
 “Dad!” Sean yanked John’s blanket and John jumped up to a seated position, and then realized he was naked, and pulled the blankets up to his chest.  
  
 “What are you doing in here?” John snapped. Sean looked exasperated that he should have to explain. It was morning. People get up in the morning. There’s nothing weird about that.  
  
 Paul chuckled from his side of the bed. “I think he wants something to eat,” he said cheerfully.  
  
 “I’m hungry, Dad.” Sean said.  
  
 “I’ll do it, John.” Paul sat up, careful to cover up his chest as well. “But Sean, you need to go turn on the telly, and I’ll be out there in a moment.”  
  
 “You guys don’t have any clothes on, do you?” Sean asked. Paul glared an ‘ _I told you so’_ at John, who shrugged apologetically.  
   
 “I’ll be out in a minute, Sean,” Paul said very firmly. “And close the door behind you when you leave.”  
  
 Now it was Sean’s turn to shrug. He turned around and walked out, but said in a Lennonesque mutter under his breath,“You don’t have any clothes on.”    
  
 As soon as the door closed, Paul dropped the sheet on to his lap and turned to John. The look he gave him was pissed beyond words. John leaned back, his hands behind his head, allowing the sheets to fall down.  
  
 “Give us a kiss, luv,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes.  
  
 Paul grimaced, but the anger didn’t go very deep. In fact the edge of his mouth was fighting the urge to curl up in a half-smile. Throwing back the covers, Paul got out of the bed and walked towards the bathroom.  
  
 Before he got to the bathroom he heard a wolf whistle. Paul stopped for a brief moment, but did not turn around. Then he continued walking into the bathroom to the sound of John’s cackles.  


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needles and Pins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter the realities of actually spending 24/7 together for days on end begin to rear their ugly heads. How will John and Paul cope? Will they fall back into their dysfunctional habits?
> 
> Also: This one has not been beta'ed for the therapist scenes, but I might be amending it later if geminigirl58 recommends it. So, if the therapist scene is totally out of whack it is all my fault!

 John returned from the park, having left Sean with the nanny. It had been a difficult parting. Sean had begged to be allowed to stay “with you and Paul”. This was just a small taste of what Paul was going through, John knew. He shook off his guilt and started to look forward to getting back to the loft. And Paul. He had a very ambitious plan.  
  
 But when he got back, Paul was seated in a chair, having opened the curtains, and he looked deep in thought.  
  
 “Paul? Are you okay?”  
  
 “No, I’m not,” Paul said.  
  
 John’s heart stopped. Here it came. The rug was going to be pulled out from under him. His knees got weak, and he plopped down into the nearest chair, his face a study in anxiety. “What? What have I done?”  
  
 Paul noticed John’s reactions, and he softened his expression. “It’s not the end of the world, John, but I feel we didn’t behave properly in front of Sean. He shouldn’t have caught us starkers in bed together.”  
  
 “I told you we should’ve locked the door,” John responded.  
  
 “And I told _you_ we should both wear pajamas, and give it a rest for one bloody night. Just _one night_.”  
  
 “So what do you think will happen?”  
  
 “Sean’s a very intelligent, very curious kid. He’s going to think about what he saw, and will ask questions until he understands what it all means.”  
  
 John sighed his relief. “I doubt it. He’s already forgotten it, I’m sure. You worry too much.”  
  
 “He was asking me about it while the two of us ate breakfast, John.”  
  
 John was stopped short. He focused more closely on Paul’s face, and he saw genuine irritation there. “What did he ask?”  
  
 “He asked me why we were sleeping in the same bed, and why we had no clothes on.”  
  
 John sucked in air. When he was 7 years old he wasn’t the least bit interested in what adults did. He had somehow thought that Sean would be the same as him in that regard. John’s voice dropped to a low monotone, “What did you say to him?”  
  
 “As little as possible. What else could I do?”  
  
 “What, exactly, did you say?” John asked again, his voice loaded with tension.  
  
 “I told him that we always used to bunk together when we were touring as kids and that we are used to it, and we both liked to sleep in the raw.”  
  
 John sighed with relief again. “Well, that’s okay then,” he said. “Did that satisfy him?”  
  
 “No. He squinted his eyes at me – just like you do when I’m selling you a bill of goods.”  
  
 John laughed in spite of the tense atmosphere. “So, what can I do to make it better?” John asked, wanting to pull Paul out of his guilty mood. Because that is what it was, John knew: guilt, pure and simple.  
  
 “First promise me that next time, if there is a next time, you’ll wear pajamas and you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”  
  
 “And what else?” John asked.  
  
 “When the 2 weeks are over, you need to sit down with Sean and give him a better answer than the one I gave him. It isn’t my job to do this, it’s your job.”  
  
 John promised, knowing that he was very unlikely to keep the first promise, and had no idea how he’d go about fulfilling the second promise, but he wanted to see Paul’s smile again.  
  
 John cleared his throat to change the subject.  
  
 “But now, you and I have an appointment in the bedroom, lad.” John had a wicked grin on his face. Paul looked at him suspiciously, and John pulled an object out of his pocket and held it up for Paul to see. It was another plastic “rocket”, but this one was closer to two fingers wide.  
  
 “Oh no, John, I’ve thought about this, and I…”  
  
 John had gotten up and pulled Paul up by his arm and started dragging him down the hallway towards the bedroom.  
  
 “…don’t want that thing in me again. It isn’t natural!”  
  
 John ignored Paul’s protestations, and, reaching the bed, he yanked Paul’s pants down to his knees, and then shoved Paul down on the bed, holding him down with one arm while Paul struggled to get up. Paul almost succeeded, but John overpowered him, and flipped him over on to his tummy. Paul’s ass was right there on the edge of the end of the bed, looking like two glowing white globes. Man, it was one beautiful sight.  
  
 “Come on John, this isn’t funny,” Paul struggled to say. His face was kind of smashed up against the bedspread and it was hard to make himself understood. He was trying to push himself up from the bed, which in turn forced John to push him down again, and lean a bit on his back. John was a little aggravated by Paul’s attitude, but also very turned on by the fact that he was dominating Paul. When Paul finally stopped struggling, John stood up and looked down at Paul’s ass. He couldn’t resist – it was so white, and round, and delicious. He spanked Paul hard on the ass with his open hand.  
  
 “Oh, bloody hell, what next?” Paul mumbled through the bedspread. John answered him with another hard smack. He then reached into his pocket, pulled out the lube and the butt plug, and, after smearing the lube all over it and everything else even remotely close to Paul’s butt, he quickly pushed the rocket up Paul’s asshole. “Ouch!” Paul shouted. “You’re tearin’ up my insides!” Paul accused.  
  
 “Oh, I am not, you wimp. You’ll survive.” He gave Paul another hard slap on his rump, and stepped away, leaving Paul straddled on the end of the bed with his ass hanging in the air, and his pants around his knees and ankles. Paul pushed himself up, and pulled his pants up again. He glared at John and started for the bathroom. “Don’t you even _think_ about taking that out Macca!” John yelled through the bathroom door. “I’ll put an even bigger one in if you do!”  
  
 “Go away!” Paul shouted.  
  
 “So, you’re gonna pout now? Do you need some tissues?”  
  
 “John, leave me alone!” Paul shouted. He was humiliated. He felt utterly stripped of his pride. He waited for a while, and when he didn’t think John was right outside the door any longer, he got up, pulled down his pants, and began cleaning the lube off his ass. As he did so he was ranting angrily to himself in his head: _How did I get myself into this mess? I leave a perfectly lovely home, with people who never yank my pants down, smack me on my bum, and shove stuff up my ass, and I come all the way over here so I can be abused and humiliated. I’ll never hear the end of this from John. He will hold it over me forever._  
  
 He sat down on the closed toilet seat, and as he did so he felt the object moving around strangely in his rectum. He found himself kind of moving his ass around to find out the different ways the movements felt. It felt kind of…interesting. Kind of…good. Paul didn’t examine the reasons why he did not remove the butt plug. He could have done so right then if he really wanted to. He didn’t stir. He began to feel stupid about hiding in the bathroom, realizing that he had totally overreacted, but didn’t really know how to get himself out of the predicament without losing face. Or what was left of it.  
  
 John was waiting in the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed. He was feeling bad. Paul was obviously embarrassed and angry, and maybe John had spoiled everything. Maybe it could never work between them, because they each wanted things from one another that the other one didn’t want to give. John’s eyes filled with tears. He hadn’t meant to hurt or embarrass Paul. He thought it was sexy, the whole scenario. John’s head fell into his hands, his arms propped up on his knees, and tears were running down his face.  
  
 “John?” John looked up to see Paul standing awkwardly in front of him. “Are you crying?” Paul came closer and saw the tears. He heaved a big sigh, and sat down next to John, wincing a bit as the butt plug pushed against his rectal wall. He put his arm around John’s shoulder, and nestled his mouth against John’s ear. “I’m okay now, really. I wasn’t quite ready for that yet, but I’m okay now. Please don’t cry.”  
  
 “I’m sorry, Paul. I didn’t mean it the way you took it.”  
  
 Paul chuckled. “I certainly hope not!” Paul’s right hand was gently wiping tears off John’s cheek, and he began to nuzzle John’s neck. “You wanna start over?”  
  
 John looked up hopefully, prepared to revert to the submissive role again, but before he could take a step in that direction, Paul went down on his knees, and started unbuckling John’s belt. _He’s gonna give me a blowjob_! Of course, Paul had done this to John many times before, but at that moment it felt like an act of selfless sacrifice to John, and he was filled with love and gratitude.  
  
 Paul had freed John’s cock from his underpants, and Paul gently pushed the foreskin back from John’s super-sensitive dick and began teasing the tip of the cock with his tongue. He finally wrapped his mouth around John’s entire tip, and as he started bobbing his head up and down, John leaned back on his arms and started making crooning noises. He sat back up again, suddenly wanting to see that beautiful face, complete with his cock stuck all the way down it’s throat. That was always a huge turn on for John, as he thought of all the – it had to be at least thousands – of men over the years who wanted to have Paul McCartney sucking their dicks – and the fact that none of them could have that intense pleasure, because it belonged only to John.  
  


*****

  
  
 When they were finished in the bedroom, it was still only the late afternoon. Like men the world over, once sated sexually, they decided they were now starving, and moved in the direction of the kitchen. Paul was wearing nothing but a terry cloth bathrobe, and John was wearing his short silk kimono. Paul couldn’t help but notice that John looked very feminine in the kimono. But then his stomach rumbled. They were taking turns plowing through the ‘fridge’s meager offerings and calling out possible food choices, before they decided on the old standard – scrambled eggs. It was one of only half a dozen things that – combined - they knew how to cook. They both quietly melted in to their routine, as if they had spent their entire lives puttering around the kitchen together.  
  
 After they ate, Paul wondered what John wanted to do next. “It’s too early to go back to bed,” Paul pointed out logically. “I can’t get it up for _at least_ a couple more hours.”  
  
 “Me either.” John answered.  
  
 “We didn’t have this problem when we only had a few hours together each visit, remember?” Paul commented.  
  
 “This isn’t a problem, Paul. We’re spending time with each other.”  
  
 “But we can’t go anywhere.”  
  
 “I know! Let’s call up Gerry and Jason and see if they’ll come over and maybe we can order dinner in later!”  
  
 Paul was all for that idea, so John got on the phone.  
  
 Jason answered, and John immediately blurted out the invitation, and Jason could hear Paul coaching John in the background. ‘ _Tell them to bring a video_!’ ‘ _And we need another bottle of wine_ …’ John would obediently convey the instructions to Jason. Jason smiled a very warm smile. How adorable.  
  
 “What about dinner?” Jason asked.  
  
 “We were gonna order from a restaurant and have them deliver,” John said. Jason agreed that this was a very good idea, and he said he’d bring a handful of delivery menus to choose from, along with a video and some wine.  
  
 Gerry was snoozing in his armchair with his reading glasses down on the tip of his nose, and the newspaper lying flat on his chest. Jason woke him up and ordered him to get ready, because they were going to take a walk across the park to visit with John and Paul. Gerry groaned, but Jason pointed out it was only 5 p.m. As Gerry sorted himself out, Jason first grabbed a bunch of menus from restaurants that delivered in the park area, and then he went to the wine cooler and selected and packed a few bottles of wine, and then he went to the video rack, and picked through the videos. Ah! The perfect video! He knew that this one would satisfy all of them! Within 30 minutes they were out the door and on their way across the park.   
  


*****

  
 “John, it just occurred to me. We have to put some clothes on.” Paul was seated on the sofa, and John was lying on the opposite side, with his feet in Paul’s lap.  
  
 “Oh crap!” John realized he was in his shorty kimono, and while he didn’t mind flashing Paul periodically, he certainly didn’t want to do that to Gerry and Jason. They both sprang into action, and threw some clothes on, and finished just as the doorbell was ringing.  
  
 Soon the men were all hugging and greeting each other, and much hilarity ensued as Jason was describing the weird encounter they’d had with a paranoid delusional in the park. Bottles of wine were being flashed about, and coats were being flung around, and everyone was talking at once. Gerry and Jason still felt a little shy around Paul. But Paul seemed quite sanguine about their presence, bubbly and charming in a boyish way. And it was hard to look at such a beautiful specimen, and not feel warmth inside.  
  
 They argued good-naturedly about what to order for dinner, and finally settled on Indian food. John put in the order, while Gerry opened the wine. Paul was fishing out glasses for the wine, and Jason was fiddling with the VCR, inserting the video.  
  
 “What did you bring?” John asked Jason.  
  
 “ _’My Dinner With Andre,’_ ” Jason responded.  
  
 John was ecstatic. “Oh – I’ve wanted to see that since it came out, but never got around to it. Great idea!”  
  
 Paul asked, “What’s it about?”  
  
 Jason answered, “These two men who have worked in the arts for decades haven’t seen each other in over 10 years, and they meet accidentally in the street, and decide to have dinner together to tell each other what they’ve been up to.”  
  
 “Then what happens?” Paul asked.  
  
 “So they go to this nice restaurant where they have a 5 course meal, and they tell each other the adventures they have had since they last saw each other.”  
  
 “And then what happens?” Paul asked.  
  
 “Well,” Jason said, at a loss for words, “that’s it. That’s the whole plot.”  
  
 Paul sat quietly like a stone for a good 20 seconds, as Gerry and Jason regarded him, having slowly realized that maybe this video was not up Paul’s alley.  
  
 Paul finally said, “So let me get this straight. We’re going to watch a movie about two blokes talking while they eat dinner?” Paul looked from one face to the other and could see that yes, this was what they were going to do. “Well, if we’re gonna have a whole lot of posh talk over dinner, we might as well skip the movie, and dig right in.”  
  
 Jason and Gerry laughed nervously. John turned to them and said, “Excuse us for a moment.” He then grabbed Paul by the arm and dragged him down the hall into the bedroom, closing the door behind them.  
  
 “I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?” Paul asked in a chastised tone of voice.  
  
 “Don’t embarrass my friends. They brought a video, and I’m excited to see the video, and I watched your stupid car explosion movie, and you can watch this art film. It won’t kill you.”  
  
 Paul nodded obediently in agreement, and they left the room and went back to the living area, where Gerry and Jason had been talking.  
  
 Gerry had said to Jason, “See, he really isn’t smart enough for John. This is going to grate on John after awhile.”  
  
 Jason shushed him and said, “I think he was just joking. Let them work it out between them.”  
  
 After they walked back into the room, Paul said to Jason and Gerry, “My sense of humor can be a little off sometimes; of course I want to see the film.” He sold the statement with such an abashed countenance that neither Jason nor Gerry could do anything but smile forgivingly at him.  
  
 As everyone settled, Jason leaned in and whispered to Gerry, “Somehow I think that nothing that man does grates on John. Do you see John’s fawning expression as he watches Paul?” Gerry looked at John, and sure enough John was watching Paul with intense interest and a silly little smile on his face. The man clearly had it bad. Gerry hoped that John’s love was reciprocated with something approaching the same degree of intensity, but he remained skeptical and concerned. He had too many friends who had fallen hard for beautiful but fatuous men, and it never ended well.  
  
 In any case, as the film progressed, moving through one of Andre’s bizarre experiences to the other, Jason noted that Paul and John were actually cuddling. John was more into the film, and Paul was more into John. Jason smiled very gently, in an inward sort of way. He had wondered about them, but he need not wonder any more. Paul’s head had just fallen on John’s shoulder. He was dozing. In his sleep he snuggled even closer to John, who moved to put his arm around Paul. Paul’s face quickly nestled in the curve of John’s neck, and Paul let loose a very soft sigh.  
  
 Jason elbowed Gerry, and discreetly pointed to the other end of the couch. Gerry looked, smiled, and then put his arm out. Jason giggled at the sweet invitation, and snuggled into Gerry’s side, as Gerry’s arm embraced his shoulder.  
  
 When one considered the sex toys he had brought back for himself from the shopping trip for John, and now this evening’s events, it occurred to Jason that this whole John and Paul thing was going to have a terrific effect on his sex life!  
  
  
*****  
  
 A few days after the visit from Gerry and Jason, on a quiet Tuesday morning, John and Paul were going stir crazy. While John had gone out a few afternoons to see Sean in the park, and Paul had gone out once to visit with John Eastman and his wife Jody, they had been pretty much sealed up alone together in their loft. For men in their early forties they were sexually overactive, but twice a day was about their limit. Not that it was boring, mind you. Just that at a certain point, when you’re a bit older, the body protests.  
  
 They had been amusing themselves with trying to learn how to cook their meals together, and John’s personal assistant was bringing them groceries along with videos, books and magazines. But this morning, as they poked through the newspaper and some magazines, Paul finally spoke.  
  
 “I need to go outside, John. I’m an outside kind of guy. I mean, if I had a piano or a guitar here, I could stay in all day every day. But without that I need to move around.”  
  
 John thought about this. “You can come to the park with me when I see Sean.”  
  
 “The paparazzi, John.”  
  
 Sigh. “Yeah, what a drag.” John thought for a moment. “Maybe we should buy a piano and a guitar for you?” John suggested.  
  
 “It would help. What about you? Don’t you want to play, too?”  
  
 John winced. He didn’t want to talk about music with Paul. It would lead to a more personal conversation he didn’t yet want to have. “I’m okay. I can always have my p.a. bring over a guitar from the Dakota if I really want one.”  
  
 Paul felt stymied. Despite the sacrifices he had made, John did not appear willing to meet him even halfway. He sighed, and went back to idly flipping through a magazine.  
  
 John noticed. John noticed that Paul was nervy and on edge, and he immediately worried about losing Paul. “Are you still okay with this?” The question was out of John’s mouth before he could stop it, and John’s voice wavered with insecurity as he asked it.  
  
 Paul looked up. Should he tell the whole truth? Should he tell John how painful it all was for him? How lost he felt? No. John would panic, and blow it all out of proportion, and then he would have an emotional meltdown. It had always been difficult for Paul to communicate his feelings to John, because John always seemed to take his words and run them through some kind of filter in his brain so that John ended up interpreting the words to be about what it meant to John, rather than these were just feelings Paul had and was struggling with, and wanted his best friend to help him with. It had always been thus with John. He always had to protect John from his own fears and sad moods. Still, it was an opening, and Paul had been looking for one.  
  
 “It’s fine, John, except…”  
  
 “Except what?” John had sat forward and his face was lined with stress.  
  
 “It’s no big thing, John, calm down. It’s okay.”  
  
 “What is it? Are you backing out on me?” John’s voice was now fraught with a combination of panic and anger.  
  
  _I should have kept my mouth shut_ , Paul thought to himself. _I knew this would happen_ …  
  
 “John, relax. I love you, I love being with you. It’s just…” Paul looked up to see if John had calmed down. He had, somewhat. But he was still on alert, still sitting on the edge of his seat, and his entire concentration was on Paul’s face. Paul took a deep breath. “It’s just that – sometimes - I don’t feel that you’re willing to meet me even halfway.”  
  
 “What the fuck does that mean?” Angry, panicky John was back, in force.  
  
 “Well, I mention anything about music, and you totally shut me down.”  
  
 “I told you that I don’t …” John’s voice was stern, almost harsh.  
  
 “See? There you go again. What is that all about? Do you think I’ve got some weird ulterior motive to trick you into working with me again? Is that at the bottom of this? Because if it is, let’s have that out. Let’s talk about that.”  
  
 John was just glaring at him. Paul took another deep breath and continued, in a softer, more conciliatory tone.  
  
 “I know you don’t want to work with me again, John. You’ve made it very clear to me. It’s true this is…” - Paul searched for a word that would _understate_ his feelings -“… _disappointing_ to me, but I know that it is off the table. I am not going to ask you to do it, so you don’t have to get all anxious about it.”  
  
 John was silent and he was looking at Paul, lugubriously.  
  
 Paul plucked up his courage. “Music is very important to me,” Paul said very softly. “I can’t live without it. But when I’m with you I have to close that part of myself off, and it is… _diffic_ …I find it _har_...maybe I feel like I can’t really be myself when I’m with you, because I have to pretend like music isn’t a huge part of my life.”  
  
 Paul stopped and his expression said it all: John, please say something. _Anything._  
  
 John responded in a flat, harsh voice. “I’m not stopping you, Paul. You want a piano and a guitar, I said let’s buy ‘em, and you can bang away to your heart’s content, since you apparently find it too boring just to hang out with me.” John was getting angry inside. Paul was making him feel guilty, and he didn’t like it when people made him feel guilty.  
  
 Paul’s heart fell. His expression reflected it. And then that expression disappeared, to be replaced by a guarded one.  
“Okay, John,” Paul said, making an effort to look back at his magazine and to appear unconcerned, “we’ll do that. But _I_ didn’t say it is boring to hang out with you.”  
  
 John saw the curtain come down, and he inwardly cursed himself. Paul was pulling himself away, and John had just pushed him further. Why the fuck did he do these self-destructive things? He slumped back in his chair and began to brood. His whole mood was spoiled now. Why did Paul have to always go on about music? John didn’t want to even think about music since he was struggling with it. He had even been trying to deal with this in therapy! John suddenly remembered his therapy session scheduled for that afternoon, and figured he should call his therapist and tell her he wouldn’t be coming. He knew he had to do something to heal the breach he’d just opened with Paul, so he said,  
  
 “Well, I’ve got to call and cancel an appointment, and then maybe we can get a limo to deliver us to a music store, and you can buy some instruments.” John hoped that Paul would accept the olive branch.  
  
 Paul’s eyes – looking at him sideways from behind the magazine – reflected distrust and hurt, but he nodded his head in the affirmative, and asked politely, “What appointment do you have to cancel? Why can’t you go?”  
  
 John was still feeling guilty over the way he had handled Paul’s concern, so he decided to be more open with Paul than he otherwise would have been.  
  
 “It’s for my therapy.”  
  
 “Therapy? Like with a psychiatrist?” Paul’s eyebrows flew up his forehead.  
  
 “Yeah, I know, stupid, huh?”  
  
 “Not stupid, no…but why do you have to cancel your appointment?”  
  
 “Because you’re here.” John said.  
  
 “That shouldn’t matter. Your therapy is important. Why don’t you go to your therapy, while I go to the music store? Less likely to stir up the paparazzi if we’re in two different places, anyway.”  
  
 “Are you sure it’s okay?”  
  
 “John, we have to find a way to live normally when we’re together. I don’t think we have to be attached at the hip. Otherwise, we’ll make each other crazy. So, yes, it’s okay – please go! And I’ll do my thing, and we’ll meet up here for dinner.”  
  
 So that’s what they did.  
  


*****

  
 The therapist was pleasantly surprised that John showed up on time for his appointment. He had mumbled something as he had left the previous Thursday about not coming for two weeks. She had tried to address this with him, but he kept walking and was out the door before she could stop him. But here he was. On time, too! He seemed to be in a pensive mood. That was very unusual for this patient.  
  
 As soon as John sat down, he spoke, in a sincere and almost pleading voice. “I really need your help.”  
  
 The therapist looked up – shocked and surprised by this admission, but valiantly not showing it. “Yes?” she asked softly.  
  
 “I’m fucking everything up again.” John said.  
  
  _Were those tears in the patient’s eyes?_ He was obviously in significant pain. “What do you think you are fucking up again?” she asked.  
  
 John was looking down at his hands, which were folded on his knees, and they were fiddling nervously. “I can’t lose h…I can’t go backwards.”  
  
 “Where would going backwards take you?”  
  
 “My fuckin’ apartment, every day all day, alone _and_ lonely…” John looked up and gave the therapist a slight smile, “… and a dead marriage.”  
  
 “If that’s backwards, what is the present – the status quo?”  
  
 John took a deep breath and decided to plunge in. He was in so much fear and pain right now, he had to talk to someone about it or he would burst. “I’m in love with someone who is not my wife.”  
  
 So. The therapist now knew what had most likely precipitated his coming to therapy in the first place. The Other Woman, the creative block, and his various other personality traits had combined to overwhelm him.  
  
 “It must be difficult to love someone else when you also love your family.”  
  
 John stared blankly at the therapist for a while, disappointed that she had missed his point. Somehow he had expected her to intuit that he was in love with someone to the exclusion of his wife, and that the someone he loved was not free to love him fully, either. Damn. It looked like he was going to have to spell some of this out for her.  
  
 “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” John finally said.  
  
 “Yes?”  
  
 “My lover is married, too. And well, let me put it this way. I’m sharing my lover part time.”  
  
 “Does your wife know about it?” The therapist asked.  
  
 “Yes,” John said, “but I know she’s angry about it, and I don’t expect her to tolerate it for much longer.”  
  
 The therapist didn’t want to ask any more direct questions. She was thoroughly confused, and hoped that she could think of an open ended question that would get the patient talking so that maybe she’d be able to figure out the fact pattern.  
  
 “So what makes you believe that you are 'fucking it up'?”  
  
 “We were lovers before – years ago. And I treated h…I was on drugs, and kind of crazy at the time, and there were things I did and said that have haunted me ever since. And now I fear that I’m turning back into that person I was then, so h..I might repeat the past.”  
  
 “Years ago, did you lose this person because of the things you did and said?”  
  
 “Yes,” John said gratefully.  
  
 “So what are you doing now that is the same as what you did before?”  
  
 “I lash out, I don’t trust. I don’t trust, that’s the main thing. And when I don’t trust, I lash out, and I drive…people …away.”  
  
 “I see…it must be very painful to love someone and not be able to trust them.”  
  
 John heaved a big weary sigh. “Yes, yes…”  
  
 There were definitely tears in the patient’s eyes.  
  
 “He deserves to be trusted, he never lies to me…”  
  
  _He?_ The therapist didn’t react. She deliberately stilled her curiosity and her expression. She didn’t write anything down. She waited. It was all starting to fall into place, and the patient didn’t seem to realize he had slipped.  
  
 “Your lover never lied to you, and yet you can’t trust,”the therapist said.  
  
 “No. I don’t like it when another person has that much emotional power over me. I feel like I will be destroyed.” John was still staring at his busy hands. His eyes did not meet those of the therapist.  
  
 “What do you fear will happen if you don’t learn to trust your lover?”  
  
 “I will push him away. He will leave me again.”  
  
 “Your lover left you before?”  
  
 “We kind of left each other, but he left first.”  
  
 “What are the things your lover does or says that make you feel distrustful?” The therapist truly wanted to help this patient; he was clearly in so much pain he hadn’t yet realized he had divulged to her what was probably his deepest, darkest secret. But she had to go slowly, and it felt like walking through a minefield to her.  
  
 “He is a musician, like me,” John said. “And he wants to talk about music, and he wants me to play music with him, too.”  
  
 “This must be hard for you because you have a creative block…”  
  
 “Exactly!” John said. “I haven’t told him that, because, well, it’s complicated. We’ve always had this competition thing between us when it comes to music. I can’t seem to get past it. But music – us sharing it - is so important to him. If I don’t give in I will lose him again.”  
  
 At this point the therapist felt foolish not pointing out the elephant in the room, because it had become clear to her that the patient wanted her to know about his lover subconsciously, if not consciously. “You say ‘he’…your lover is a man?”  
  
 John stared at her. He had forgotten to hold his tongue. But it was too late now, and it was kind of a relief that it was out. “Yes.”  
  
 “Is having a male lover, in your position, stressful by itself?”  
  
 “Yes,” John’s response sounded like a hard-fought for confession.  
  
 “It requires a lot of trust to have a male lover in your position, doesn’t it?”  
  
 “I don’t worry about that with _him_ – only with other people finding out and talking about it. He’s in the same boat I am. He doesn’t want anyone to know about it anymore than I do.” John felt words just tumbling out, as if they’d been standing on line for hours for their chance to escape.  
  
 There was silence for a few moments as the therapist took in John’s comments, and, meanwhile, John pondered bleakly about the likelihood that Paul would leave him again.  
  
 “Have you explained to him that you have a creative block? Maybe if he knew _why_ you were reluctant to talk about music, he would understand.”  
  
 John stared at the therapist for a length of time thinking about what she said. It made sense. Paul was an empathetic person; at least he had always been empathetic to John. Maybe if he just told him _why_ he hated to talk about music, Paul would back off.  
  
  


*****

  
 John returned to the loft in a much better state of mind than when he had left. Paul was already there, quietly strumming on a guitar. Paul looked up and met John’s eyes, as John walked towards him and sat down opposite him. Paul had stopped playing.  
  
 “How’d it go?” Paul asked idly, deliberately focusing on his fingers on the frets.  
  
 “Fine,” John responded, and then he stared meaningfully at Paul for several seconds.  
  
 Paul could tell that John wanted to tell him something, and he looked up to meet John’s eyes. “What?” Paul asked him gently.  
   
 John felt he should speak before he talked himself out of it. “I have a creative block, Paul. That’s why I don’t want to talk about music. It makes me feel stressed. I’m trying to work through it in therapy, but so far it hasn’t helped. I’m kind of losing patience with it.”  
  
 This information hit Paul like a thud. “John, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were going through that. I’m sort of in the same place, although you know me – I’ll just keep pounding away even if I have nothing to show for it.” Paul smiled tentatively at John. “I wouldn’t have brought it up, if I had known,” he added softly.   
  
John nodded. “Maybe it just goes away. Maybe you get to a certain age, and all your creative juices just dry up.”  
  
 Paul said, “I still hear music in my head, and to me it sounds great. But it isn’t what people want to hear right now, it’s totally out of style.” Paul felt tremendous relief to be able to talk about this with John – someone whose abilities he respected so much. “You know mate, I’m okay with you ignoring it, so long as you don’t mind me goofing around on the guitar on my own from time to time.”  
  
 John smiled. “Yeah, go ahead. No piano?”  
  
 “No piano,” Paul grinned. “Too distracting. I want to focus on the main event.”  
  
 “Oh?” John asked teasingly.  
  
 “That would be you, John.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You Don’t Know Me

 It was eight days into the 14-day getaway, and John was itching to start the future. He was yearning for a final surrender from Paul, sexually. Thus far he had managed to put a third, even larger, butt plug in Paul, but the two hadn’t discussed putting this stretching to use. John was half afraid that he would push Paul too far and lose him forever. He wanted desperately for Paul to surrender to him – it meant more to him emotionally than it even did sexually. How to let Paul know? How to breach that final frontier?  
  
 Paul, meanwhile, was ignorant of John’s dilemma. He had gotten used to the butt plug, and actually kind of got a kick out of it. The thing was, he didn’t understand what the point of it all was. What was the point of stretching his anus if John wasn’t going to fuck him? Still, Paul hadn’t really gotten to the point where he could actually _ask_ to be fucked. That was a bit too embarrassing. He had kind of hoped that John would take the decision out of his hands by insisting upon it directly.  
  
 It was strange, really. The more he sashayed around with that thing up his ass, the more he experienced the feminine side of his sexuality. It was actually a gigantic turn-on, and he hoped that John would conjure up his courage so they could get the cherry-busting event over with, and they could have it behind them (so to speak). Paul felt as though it was time for him to give up the control for a while, and how ironic that now that he had reached that point, John was suddenly shying away? What was that all about? Maybe John really didn’t want to fuck him. Maybe it was the forbidden that attracted John, more than the actual reality of sticking his cock up Paul’s ass. Still, Paul didn’t feel comfortable telling John, “fuck me for fuck’s sake and get it over with already!” That was too much for Paul to contemplate.  
  
 That evening, while they were seated in the living area, John was muttering to himself about a voice message his p.a. had left for him. Yoko had closed John’s credit card account, because she felt he had spent too much money on frivolous things. Of course, it was true that money flowed through John’s hands like water, but still – he was the one who had earned it! They wouldn’t be rich without John’s song rights! How dare she cut him off!  
  
 Paul overheard John’s mumblings, and managed to persuade John to explain what he was mumbling about.  
  
 “She cut off your credit account?” Paul was shocked.  
  
 “She didn’t approve of my expenditures,” John said grumpily.  
  
 “What business is it of hers? It’s your fucking money!” Paul was angry on John’s behalf.  
  
 “I’m not good with money,” John said.  
  
 “And you never will be, if you are never given the opportunity to handle it yourself!” Paul was offended.  
  
 “I don’t think I’d want to handle money,” John said quietly. “I suck at it, and it bores me.”  
  
 “You’re giving up all control to another person, John. You need to stand up for yourself, and maintain equal control of your finances.”  
  
 “I wouldn’t know what to do with it, if I did get control away from Yoko. And she’d go crazy if I tried to take it away from her.”  
  
 “You don’t have to take it away from her,” Paul said calmly, “it’s her money too. She’s good at business, but _she’s_ got a financial advisor. You need your own financial advisor to give you support, so that you can stand up to her when necessary. You worked your fuckin’ butt off for all that money – why should she be the sole arbiter of how it is spent and invested?”  
  
 John heard Paul and agreed with what he said, but doubted that he had the fortitude to address this issue with Yoko. He decided to pick Paul’s brain.  
  
 “Aunt Mimi says that Yoko keeps trying to persuade her to go to an assisted living place, and that she doesn’t give her enough money to live on,” John said carefully. “I know Aunt Mimi, and she tends to exaggerate. I don’t know if it is even true.”  
  
 “Why don’t you call Mimi?” Paul asked. “Ask for specific examples of things she can’t afford to buy or do. That ought to answer your question.”  
  
 “I can’t deal with Yoko versus Aunt Mimi. It is too stressful for me.”  
  
 Paul looked at John with a tiny bit of annoyance in his expression. “It is your responsibility to take care of your family. Do you have any idea at all how they’re doing? I mean Mimi, but also your sisters, and Julian. Do you even know?”  
  
 John was looking at his fingers. He was a bit ashamed. “No, I really haven’t got a clue.”  
  
 “So, as far as you know they could be living from paycheck to paycheck?” Paul was trying to meet John’s eyes.  
  
 “Yoko starts talking about money and my eyes roll back in my head,” he confessed.  
  
 “John, that’s not okay. You need to step up. If you don’t stand up for your family, who will? Do you want them all living in relative poverty in comparison to your lifestyle?” Paul was starting to be irritated with John. “I _know_ you. You’re a _very_ generous person.”  
  
 “It’s not like I understand money or business, Paul, or that anything I could do or say would contribute to a solution.” John thought about it for a moment, and then decided to ask. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Can you look into it for me? When you’re in England? Can you go check out Mimi’s situation, and my sisters’, and Julian’s? You can tell me what you think, and then if you agree they need more money I can stand up to Yoko.”  
  
 “Will you?” Paul asked in a firm voice.  
  
 “Will I what?” John asked, confused.  
  
 “Will you really stand up to Yoko if I find that she is shorting your family? Because if you won’t, I don’t want to get them all riled up, or waste my time.” Paul was giving John a level look intense with scrutiny.  
  
 “If I have information I can trust,” John said, “then I will act on it.” He met Paul’s eyes steadily, and this seemed to satisfy Paul.  
  
 “Well, you’ll have to write to them or call them, and find out if they mind me dropping by to see them. I don’t want to go prying where I’m not wanted or where I don’t belong.”  
  
 “I will,” John said in a placating tone, but then he suddenly noticed the ‘stern daddy’-like expression on Paul’s face. That was always a major turn-on for John. But _this_ time John wanted to make ‘stern daddy’ beg for mercy.  
  
 Paul noticed the subtle changes in John’s expression and body language. John was throwing away the ‘helpless artist’ motif and his whole physique and attitude seemed to be enlarging and hardening before his very eyes. This gave Paul a thrill. He felt mesmerized by John’s sudden tough masculinity. But he wasn’t going to be a pushover. He wasn’t going down without a fight.  
  
 John saw the challenge in Paul’s eyes and smiled a very smug and evil smile. This was going to be fun. It looked like Paul was up for a little power struggle. And what’s a little smacking and spanking amongst friends?  
  
 Paul crossed his legs in that maddeningly sexy way he had – it was how they did it on the Continent, but to an Englishman or American man it looked so patently feline that it sent them to the forbidden zone in their lizard brains. While most women would see a very sexy and elegant man, most men would see a dangerously erotic and cruel woman instead. John knew that when Paul did that in front of him – crossed his legs that way – he was flaunting his sexual hold over him and rubbing it in his face. It was like a red flag to a bull, although the object wasn’t blood on the sand – the object was sexual supremacy.  
  
 Paul, meanwhile, wasn’t consciously doing anything when he crossed his legs. But while he did it he felt the tug and fullness of the butt plug – the one that was a little thicker than two fingers in width. Paul squeezed his ass to feel it move. And his eyes were fucking John’s eyes as he did so.  
  
_That’s_ _too much_ , John thought. _He’s taunting me now._ _Just wait until you’re ass up over that hassock, and then we’ll see who’s taunting whom._ This thought galvanized John to action. John leaned back in his easy chair, put both feet on the ground, and spread his legs so his hardened cock could be seen through his pants. He casually lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out carelessly in the air above his head.  
  
 “Paul,” he said in a silky and dangerous voice, “come over here.”  
  
 Paul’s left eyebrow went up, as if to say, ‘ _That’s it? That’s all you got? Yeah, right, like I’m just gonna sashay over there.’_  
  
 John patted his lap. “Come over here, Paul.”  
  
  _Hmmm. Interesting. Maybe I should? Maybe I should go over there and sit on his fucking lap? I’d be on top, and would have all the power._ Paul’s expression was so readable to John.  
  
 “Yeah, that’s right, come over here and sit on my lap, Paul,” John chuckled.  
  
 After waiting a pregnant moment, Paul slowly uncrossed his legs and stood up, indulging in a languorous stretch that showed off his body to marvelous effect. He then took his time approaching John, the way a cat struts across a room when it is considering allowing it’s human to pet it. John, who adored cats, could almost swear he saw a tail flicking back and forth. When Paul got within a foot of John’s chair, John grasped the backs of Paul’s thighs, pulling him closer and forcing his knees to bend.  
  
 “Face me, on my lap,” John said in a bossy tone.  
  
 Paul didn’t like that tone so much, but John had pretty much pulled him down on to his lap already, so Paul decided to play along for a while. He was seated on John’s lap, facing him, with one bent leg on either side of John’s legs. John’s hands were cupping Paul’s ass cheeks. John’s head was leaning back against the headrest, and he had a crazy, lazy, sexy look on his face that excited Paul, who was trying manfully to keep his excitement to himself. John’s cigarette was still burning in the ashtray next to the table. John’s right hand left Paul’s butt cheek, and then reached out to crush the ciggie. His free right hand then moved over to Paul’s chest, where he slowly began to unbutton Paul’s shirt. The whole time John’s eyes - lazy and sensual and with a hint of mischief – were fucking Paul’s eyes.  
  
 Despite himself, Paul felt his inner female becoming aroused. He knew how to soften his face. He knew it drove John crazy when he did it. (Just as it had worked on Brian Epstein back in the day.) Paul let all of the sultriness and challenge leave his face, and immediately his luscious plump lips were slightly pouting, and his mouth fell slightly open. He dropped his eyelids, and then looked up at John through his eyelashes in a very coquettish way.  
  
 Predictably, John melted for a moment. _Crap! There ought to be a fuckin’ law_! John smiled at his lover and forced himself to remain firm. _What a delicious little tramp_! John’s right hand finished with the buttons, but John was in no hurry now. He casually pulled the shirt off Paul’s shoulders and halfway down his arms, but let it hang there, as a kind of loose straightjacket. Paul would later find that his ability to move his arms would be hampered by this little detail. Now Paul’s chest was naked, and John began tracing little figures on it, playing with the hair that was so abundant there, and then with Paul’s alert nipples. He knew that Paul found that extremely arousing.  
  
 While John’s left hand retained a firm grasp on Paul’s right buttock, the right hand now grabbed Paul’s jaw, and, while the finger tracing the jawline was gentle, the grip he maintained was strong. He slipped his hand behind Paul’s neck, and pulled Paul’s face towards his, and kissed Paul full on his juicy lips. John’s crotch was throbbing, and he knew he had to take steps to control his libido, so, still holding the back of Paul’s neck in one strong hand, John said lazily but with no pleading in his voice at all, “Go fetch me our cock rings. You know where they are.”  
  
 Paul leaned back, surprised by this order. It was definitely an order. Paul hated orders. He would do almost anything for someone he loved, so long as they asked nicely. But he _really_ hated being ordered about.  
  
 John didn’t bother to hide his knowing smile, as he watched “sweet little innocent Paul” disappear into “scowling like an angry puppy Paul”. _So adorable. So fuckin’ adorable_. _And predictable_. John lightly spanked Paul’s left buttock, and then unceremoniously pushed Paul off his lap. Paul fell backwards on his ass to the floor, his legs in the air.  
  
 “I said,” John growled, leaning his body down towards Paul, prone on the floor, “go get our cock rings. Right now.”  
  
 Paul untangled himself and got up and glared at John, who pointed in the direction of the bedroom with a maddeningly amused but unbending expression on his face. Irritated, and showing it, Paul turned in a huff and started towards the bedroom.  
  
 “Oh, and there’s a black bag in my closet on the floor. Bring that, too.”  
  
 Paul had stopped in mid-stride for John’s amended order, but decided not to make a point of it and went to find the bag. Curious, once he found it, he tried to open it. But it had a combination lock. _Rats!_ What the fuck was in it?  
  
 “ _Hurry up Paul_!” John shouted from the living room. Paul muttered angrily to himself about John the bossy pants, and located the two leather cock ring straps in the drawer of John’s bedside table. He then headed back for the living room wondering why on earth he was putting up with this! But as he walked he felt the butt plug in his ass, and he knew to his shame exactly why he was putting up with it.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
 Paul then headed back for the living room wondering why on earth he was putting up with this! But as he walked he felt the butt plug in his ass, and he knew to his shame exactly why he was putting up with it.  
  
 As Paul approached him, John said in a bossy voice, “You put your shirt back on! I didn’t say you could do that! Pull it down to your elbows!” For a moment Paul didn’t know what John was talking about, but then remembered, and not really understanding why that detail bothered John so much, he obediently pulled the shirt off his shoulders and allowed it to hang between his elbows. Paul was dying to see what was in the black bag, and didn’t want to get all tied up in quarreling over incidentals like shirts.  
  
 But John, of course, had other ideas. He put the black bag aside, and still sitting in his chair, he said,  
  
 “Turn around, Paul.” When Paul didn’t immediately move, John started to get up, and Paul turned around. Paul didn’t know why the specter of John getting up had scared him that way, but somehow he knew if John got up, there would be some kind of hell to pay. Not long afterward, Paul felt a loose blindfold being tied around his eyes. “Not that I think you’ll cheat, by peeking, but just to take the temptation away…” John drawled. Paul thought to himself, “This is interesting." He’d never allowed himself to be blindfolded before (not even with prossies), so he was a little tentative about the idea, but would let it ride to see where the whole thing was going.  
  
 John rummaged around a bit in his black bag, and having found what he wanted, John said in a no-nonsense voice, “Drop your pants.”  
  
  _What? This was bloody humiliating is what this was._ Paul unbuttoned and then unzipped his blue jeans, but found they wouldn’t ‘drop’. They were too tight. Somehow the idea of having to peel them off himself with John watching him from behind was just too embarrassing for Paul.  
  
 “What’s taking so long?” John demanded.  
  
 “They’re jeans, John, they don’t ‘drop’.” Paul said, trying to find his grown male adult voice, but kind of failing.  
  
 “So take ‘em off. Now.” John was moving around behind him, doing stuff, and it made Paul very nervous. “I said _now,_ Paul.” Paul was unnerved by John using his actual first name, instead of one of the seemingly thousands of diminutives John had given him. Somehow, the use of his actual name made the whole episode more humiliating. It was harder for Paul to pretend to be someone else when his name was being flung out there left and right. John smacked Paul hard on the ass. “If you don’t do it now, I’m gonna be forced to do it for you. You won’t like that.”  
  
  _This was outrageous_! But Paul was a highly sexed man who had to also admit it was incredibly sexy, the whole gnarly setup. So, shrugging, he started to shimmy out of his pants. He had to bend at the waist and tug the material down over his thighs, and he knew he was giving John an eyeful, but what the hell? The jeans were finally pooled at his ankles, and he stood back up.  
  
 “Step out of them and kick them away,” John said in what sounded to Paul like an almost disinterested voice. Paul did as he was told, and there he stood, with just his underpants on, and a shirt hanging off his arms. He felt kind of vulnerable and silly.  
  
 “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Paul,” John said in a matter of fact voice from behind as he opened the black bag and rummaged around inside it, “that you wear some really sexy underpants for a man. Are you sure there isn’t some kind of tranny in you?”  
  
 “They’re just bikini underpants, John, lots of guys wear them…” Paul had been forced into defending his underpants. This was the height of humiliation.  
  
 “What do you call that color, Paul? Is it _lavender_?” John was laughing at him, and Paul’s cheeks suffused with blood, burning a bright red. Linda liked the bright colors; she’s the one who bought his underwear. So what?  
  
 John turned Paul around to face him. He began playing with Paul’s nipples again before removing the blindfold for a moment. “I have a little surprise for you,” John said seductively. He held up a silver chain, and on each end was a small horseshoe like clamp. “These are for your nipples.”  
  
 Paul stared at the object with an expression made up of equal parts confusion and distaste. “What are you going to do with that?” He asked suspiciously.  
  
 John didn’t answer verbally, he simply took one end of the chain and clamped it on to Paul’s right nipple.  
  
 “ _Ouch!_ ” Paul shouted, and pulled away. John pulled him back, and then connected the other clamp. “John – this fuckin’ _hurts_ – I’m not a masochist you know!”  
  
    John suddenly gripped him by the shoulders, roughly turned Paul around so he was facing away again, and pushed Paul towards the hassock, which Paul now noticed was sitting in the middle of the room, covered with a thick towel. As they got to the hassock, John first replaced the blindfold, and then his two hands reached around Paul’s waist, and, each hand insinuating itself inside Paul’s underpants, pulled them down to Paul’s upper thighs, so his ass was exposed. Paul’s hands were cupped protectively over his penis, but John soon pushed them away, and, moving in from behind, idly stroked Paul’s cock, covering the base with lube. He said in an amused voice, “you’re already hard, Paul. So don’t pretend you don’t like this.” John then snapped the leather cock ring around the base of Paul’s penis, trapping Paul’s hard on in a firm grasp.  
  
 John then said, “You’re gonna lie on that hassock, face down,” and he pushed down on Paul’s shoulders to persuade him to move. Like in a trance, Paul obeyed. He was beyond embarrassment at this point. He just wanted the whole thing over. Why was John dragging it out so long? Soon Paul’s shoulders and head were hanging over the edge of the hassock, while his ass was up in the air. John had whisked Paul’s underwear off and then pulled each of his legs around a side of the hassock, so that his ass was spread wide. Paul’s arms appeared to be trapped inside his shirt. His nipples were aching and burning as the chain that connected them hung down toward the floor, causing the clamps to squeeze more tightly. Paul felt completely helpless and vulnerable.  
  
 John, seated right behind Paul’s ass on a chair, started tracing his hands on Paul’s ass. Paul jumped at the first touch, making John chuckle. “Look at that ass, will ye?” he seemed to be talking to himself, because obviously Paul could see nothing but the rug below him. “Oh man, bless this damn cock ring, or I’d come right now just looking at you in this position, Paul.” Again, Paul blushed. At least John couldn’t see his face. Somehow that made the whole thing easier for Paul.  
  
 “I’m doing it this way for you, Paul,” John said in an unnecessarily patronizing tone of voice, and his hands were making swirling motions on Paul’s ass cheeks. “Your first time, you really should take it from behind. It is safer, and it doesn’t hurt as much. I should know.” John laughed and suddenly smacked Paul on his ass. “I’m obsessed with your ass, Paul. I always have been. And you know it – I see how you waggle it at me when you know I can do nothing about it.” John smacked him again, even harder. Paul jumped because it actually hurt a little. “I want to see it bright red before I fuck you,” John said. Now he was talking in a kind of stream-of-consciousness flow, which was creeping Paul out.  
  
 Paul heard more rustlings, and he struggled to try to find a more comfortable position by moving his legs closer together. John smacked him again, and pushed his legs even further apart. “If you don’t stay still, Paul, I’ll have to tie you down. Do you want me to tie you down? I bet you do…”  
  
 “No, no ties are necessary,” Paul stated, managing a weak smile.  
  
 John grabbed the tether he had laid out on the ground in front of the hassock. John pulled the tether taut around the hassock, and then tied a knot around one of Paul’s ankles with one end of the tether, and then tied a knot on the other ankle with the other end. This had the effect of causing Paul’s legs to be spread far apart, and he couldn’t move them.  
  
  _Oh lord_ , thought Paul. _What I do for love._ “You don’t need to tie me down, John, really, I’ll behave,” he said, reasonably.  
  
 “Not when I start doing this,” John responded promptly. Before Paul could even ask what he meant, he felt and heard a loud smack on his ass, quickly followed by another, and several others.  
  
  _A swatter! The git was using a swatter on his bum_! _Well, gee…this was an interesting position he found himself in_. Paul smirked a little, but soon he was not so amused, because his ass was burning. John was just whaling away. John seemed to be enjoying himself, every once in a while stopping to massage Paul’s ass before smacking him again. He finally spoke.  
  
 “God, your ass! It’s fuckin’ bright red!” There was way too much enthusiasm in John’s voice. Paul was beginning to be fed up with this.  
  
 “ _Stop that! Enough already!_ ” he finally hissed when John landed a particularly sharp smack.  
  
 “Does it _hurt,_ Paulie?” John asked, stopping for a moment and moving around so he could put his head near Paul’s. “You should see your ass Paul. It is so hot it’s giving off light!”  
  
 “It _burns_ ,” Paul muttered, refusing to meet John’s eyes. He was glad he couldn't see the triumph there, since he knew his face was burning with humiliation.  
  
 “You want me to stop? Ask me nicely.” John’s voice had an evil smile in it.  
  
 “Please, John? Will you stop?” Paul was through with worrying about his pride. He just wanted the swatting to stop.  
  
 John chuckled, and messed Paul’s hair up and went back to Paul’s rear end. He knew it was time to stop taunting and start fucking, so his hand moved lazily to Paul’s anus, and it played around the rim for a moment, and massaging the perineum gently. He then got his fingers around the base of the butt plug, and slowly pulled it out.  
  
 Paul felt the release immediately, but along with the release he felt a kind of emptiness there. A loss. He was also incredibly aroused now, after all this crazy and unpredictable foreplay. What the hell was John doing up there?  
  
 John had pushed his chair away, and stripped off all of his clothes. He then lubed up his fingers, and, kneeling behind Paul, slowly inserted them one at a time, slathering lube inside Paul’s asshole. Paul groaned with what sounded suspiciously like pleasure. John smiled. He repeated this task three times, and coated his own cock heavily. No matter how he tried to reduce the pain, this was gonna hurt Paul like hell. Paul wasn’t gonna ‘cum’ from this, although John thought he himself no doubt would. Paul would get his pleasure later, John would make sure of that.  
  
 Standing up, and then leaning over, John put one of his legs on either side of the hassock, rubbing up against Paul’s legs. His left arm was pressed palm down on top of the hassock, adjacent to Paul’s back, and the right hand was guiding his cock in the direction of Paul’s asshole. John allowed the cock to play around Paul’s rim and was delighted to see Paul squirming in pleasure. _That won’t last long_ , John thought to himself. His cock finally landed on Paul’s entrance, and John pushed. Just a little.  
  
 Paul made an inarticulate sound, comprised one part of shock and one part of pain.  
  
 “It’ll be okay, Paulie, just take a breath and let it out.” John was whispering in the direction of Paul’s ears.  
  
 Paul struggled to comply, but as John pushed and pulled back, pushed in deeper and pulled back further, and then pushed in deeper again, Paul literally felt as though his insides were being torn apart. It wasn’t at all how he thought it would be like. _Criminy! Is that how women felt when he pushed his cock inside them! Here he’d thought he’d been giving them pleasure_!  
  
 John had finally managed to maneuver his cock most the way in to Paul’s ass; it would not make it all of the way in because of the cock ring, but also the foreskin, which could only be pulled back so far. It was much harder to penetrate Paul’s ass than he had imagined it would be, and he was grateful for the cock ring, which made his dick harder. He knew his cock wasn’t pointed naturally in the right direction to press against Paul’s prostate gland. Hell, his _finger_ had found it difficult to hit that spot! But John was determined to let Paul feel how it could be a pleasurable experience once he relaxed and allowed his muscles and nerves to do their thing. So he started pumping. And the pumping was really turning him on. This was Paul’s ass! The long-desired forbidden object! And his cock was buried deep inside it. John couldn’t help it any more. He started to rut. He knew he was rutting, and he knew he’d be apologizing to Paul later, but he couldn’t help it. Impatiently, his right hand unsnapped the cock ring from his own dick and threw it across the room. This allowed him to dig a little deeper into Paul’s ass, and Paul let loose a stifled cry in response. John picked up speed again, rutting, and pumping, and periodically withdrawing almost all of the way out, and then plunging back in. He felt like he was in sinner’s heaven, and he could have stayed there forever. John was so wrapped up in his own sexual euphoria that he had forgotten to worry about Paul.  
  
 He needn’t have bothered to, anyway, because Paul had started to get the point of this whole exercise. When he allowed himself to just relax, and then to anticipate John’s thrusts, he began to – only tentatively – move his own ass and pelvis in concert with John’s. This was a whole different thing. It was John inside of him, taking pleasure from him. Paul’s basically generous nature came to the fore, and he allowed himself to give in utterly to John’s mastery. He began to groan, and to twist and move to excite John further. And he could feel it as the tension built in John, and he knew that John was going to –  
  
 “AHHHH, GAHHHH!” Loud, inarticulate sounds were exploding from John’s throat as the semen exploded out of John’s cock. John had intended to pull out before he came, but he only made it halfway out, and some of the semen was ejected into Paul’s rectum.  
  
 Paul felt something dribbling out of his ass. He suspected what it was, and he felt his cock grow harder. He wanted so bad to come, too, but the cock ring was unrelenting.  
  
 John rode the orgasm out, finishing himself off in a hand towel he had handy, and then wiping the outside of Paul’s ass quickly with it. Without another thought, although he wanted to relax and sink into oblivion, John untied one of Paul’s ankles, and then pulled Paul up by the shoulders until he was kneeling with his back to John, who was also kneeling, and, after removing Paul’s cock ring, began stroking Paul’s cock and whispering words of love and lust in Paul’s ear with equal intensity:  
  
 “ _You’re mine now, I love you, man you were really going there, your ass was hoppin’ and boppin’ – like oil on a grill_ …” As he whispered and wanked Paul’s dick, he was also tugging on the chain with his other hand, which caused Paul’s nipples to tingle and burn. The tingling nipples and John’s dirty talk were working their magic on Paul, who had – for the moment – completely forgotten that his ass was aching and burning, and soon he was erupting too. John was whispering, “ _That’s my boy, come on, give me your spunk, spill it…_ ”  
  
 Afterwards, in the quiet, both men were breathing deeply. Paul’s forehead was supported by the edge of the hassock, and John’s forehead was leaning on Paul’s upper back, and they were spooned in a sitting on their heels position. There was sweat and other bodily fluids all over the both of them, and they were oblivious to it all.  
  
 Paul didn’t want to think. He knew if he started thinking, it would be spoiled. Instead, he decided to let John make the next move. Whatever John wanted to do, that’s what Paul would do. As the decision formed itself in his brain, Paul thought to himself, _who am I? Who is this person I am now? I don’t know this me._  
  
 John slowly regained some strength, and he allowed his arms to surround Paul’s back protectively, as his hands were moving against Paul’s abdomen. It was frightening how much he loved this person. _No other word for it but frightening. No doubt it isn’t normal. He must be cracked in the head._  
  
 He slowly withdrew his arms from Paul, and Paul made a small mew in protest. John gently removed the other tether from around Paul’s ankle, the blindfold, and the clamps from Paul’s nipples. Paul sighed with relief. John stood up, and gently helped Paul to his feet. He grasped Paul’s hand and led him to the bedroom. They climbed into bed, and Paul clearly wanted to be held. They lay on their sides, and Paul moved into John’s comforting arms, wrapping his own left arm around John’s waist, tucking his head under John’s chin, sighing loudly and promptly falling asleep. It was such a submissive, feminine thing to do. John was filled with a rush of testosterone. _Who was this Paul? He_ **really** _adored this Paul_.  
  
 More strangely, however, it was also possible for John, at that moment in time, to also really like his strange new _self_.  
  
 John strengthened his arms more tightly around Paul’s shoulders, and allowed his head to rest on Paul’s head full of crazy black curls. His breathing drifted through Paul’s hair as John slipped into the deepest contentment he’d felt in a long time, and was soon on his way to a sound sleep.  
  
 His last conscious thought as sleep claimed him was: _This ‘thing’ he had with Paul – there were endless layers. This was no ‘final frontier’. They still didn’t really know each other. But if they just kept peeling off the layers, maybe they’d get there one day._

 

*****  
  
 The next morning, John awoke to find Paul asleep in his arms. The events of the previous evening ran through John’s mind. His brain slowly became alert enough to acknowledge that he had finally accomplished his goal of “conquering” Paul. But, John acknowledged to himself as he gazed at his beautiful sleeping lover, Paul remained curiously unconquered. There was still that unknowable _something_ about Paul that existed just a little out of reach. John hoped to himself that this _something_ would never go away; he loved it so.  
  
 A moment later, Paul indulged in a slow, protracted stretch, followed immediately by indignant groans, and then he turned on his back and his eyes flew open. John, lying on his side, had propped his head up on his hand, and was grinning at Paul in a naughty way.  
  
 Paul winked at him, covering for his slight blush. “Everything hurts,” he said in a gravelly early morning mumble. “ _Everything_ …”  
  
 John started chuckling, and his busy right hand began running itself up and down Paul’s chest and abdomen. John noticed the bruises first. “Oh, sorry luv. Your nipples look a bit sore.”  
  
 Paul looked down and smirked. “You think?” Paul then met John’s eyes squarely, and John was suddenly confronted with a look of bold curiosity. “So what got into you last night?” Paul asked, lifting his left hand up to brush the bangs off of John’s forehead.  
  
 “I _had_ to go there…I’ve wanted it for a long time.”  
  
 Paul considered what John said, and responded, “Yeah…me too.”  
  
 John’s face lit up with surprised delight, and then he leaned down to kiss Paul decorously on the lips. Paul was a constant source of happy surprises to John. Just when you thought he was a daddy’s boy, he’d run off to Paris with you and fuck your ass off. Just when you thought he was a mindlessly conventional composer, he’d show up in the studio with an armful of tape loops. And just when you thought he was immovably heterosexual, he would flirt with you through impossibly long eyelashes – like he was doing now.  
  
 “But there is one thing – for the future,” Paul said.  
  
 “Oh?”  
  
 “The thing with the swatter. When I asked you to stop I wasn’t sure you would stop, and I felt really helpless. It got pretty unpleasant there after awhile.”  
  
 John was crushed. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I thought it was sexy.”  
  
 “You didn’t hurt me, and you did stop when I asked you, but in the future, maybe we should work out some kind of agreement about when I’ve had enough.”  
  
 “A safe word. Yeah, I read about those. Ok, we’ll agree on a safe word next time.” John waited a moment, “unless you’d rather not have me do that again.”  
  
 “Hey – I’m up for it. No reason to stop.”  
  
 Relieved, John leaned in to kiss Paul again, this time – although still masterly – he was very gentle and loving. Paul allowed himself to be kissed and responded in an alluringly submissive way. John finally pulled back, and staring fondly into Paul’s face whispered, “I love you.” Paul’s answer was to pull John’s head down, and kiss him again, this time in a very needy way.  
  
 A few hours later, the two men finally persuaded each other to get up out of bed. It was almost noon, and their stomachs were protesting. Paul volunteered to make his famous cheese and pickle sandwiches (at least they were famous among friends and family back home in England), and although John was dubious about the idea, he soon was wolfing it down enthusiastically. “This is fantastic,” he said, his mouth full.  
  
 “I know. I once thought I’d call one of my albums ‘ _Cheese and Pickle Sandwich_.’”  
  
 John choked as he laughed. “You’re daft. I never know what daft thing you’re going to do or say next.”  
  
 “ _You love it_ ,” Paul said with a sassy grin, and then popped a piece of pickle in his mouth as if it were an exclamation mark. John kicked him under the table, and Paul snickered. “Thanks, mate. That was the last remaining part of my body that wasn’t bruised.” A moment later, Paul said suddenly,  
  
 “Let’s take a walk.”  
  
 “ _Walk_?” John looked alarmed.  
  
 “Yeah, we can wear disguises, and just go spelunking. We can find some old junk shops or record stores…places where we won’t be recognized. It’ll be our ‘Mad Day Out’!”  
  
 John warmed to the idea as soon as he heard the word ‘disguises’. He jumped up and headed for the bedroom closets. Items of clothing were discussed and discarded in twenty minutes of creative brainstorming, and then there they stood, side by side, staring in the floor to ceiling mirror in the dressing room. Paul had a heavy tweed coat on, and had greased his hair straight back off his forehead, and was wearing a pair of sunglasses. John had put on several layers of shirts and sweaters to make himself look fatter, and over that he put on an oversized windbreaker. He had combed his hair back, too. As disguises, they weren’t very creative, but John and Paul hadn’t much to work with. They both decided that they looked sufficiently plain and uninteresting, and so they’d be able to melt into the background.  
  
 They ventured out into a breezy afternoon. Little bits of moisture were floating on the breeze, and this felt extremely refreshing to two men who had been basically holed up indoors for days. They easily fell into their decades-long habit of two best mates bopping down the sidewalk, with not a care in the world. No one looking at them would suspect for a moment they were lovers. They soon nabbed a cab.  
  
 They headed for a sketchy neighborhood in the West Twenties on the Upper West Side that was known for little specialty shops offering used clothing, jewelry, furniture and other products at reasonable prices. John knew there were a number of little bars and clubs there, too, from his days of bar hopping with Harry Niilson during his ‘lost weekend’. They were soon set down in the neighborhood, and began poking around. They found a used record and bookstore, and headed straight for it without saying a word to each other. John headed first for the books, and Paul for the records. Eventually, John wandered over to stand next to Paul, and eyed the pile Paul had collected. There were some pretty obscure and funky titles, and they began to discuss the relative merits of the albums, until they had whittled them down to a half dozen really good ones.  
  
 After paying for their purchases, they meandered back into the street and window shopped for a few blocks until they came to a store which styled itself as an ‘antique’ store. It had the look of a junk shop, more like. Paul loved junk shops – Linda had turned him on to them back in 1968 when she was working overtime to distract him from his troubles at work. Paul impulsively dragged John in to the shop by his upper arm, and at first John thought this was going to be bloody boring, but as Paul began to pick up weird objects and say, “I wonder what…,” allowing John to come up with ever more hilarious potential uses for the objects, John found that he was having a truly wonderful time. He and Paul were snickering and chuckling as unobtrusively as possible as they made their way through the shop’s wares. Suddenly they came up short by – yes it was! - a Beatles brush and comb set, circa 1964. They both burst into uncontrollable giggles, because the brush had Paul’s face on the handle, and the comb had John’s name along the spine. “We _have_ to,” Paul said, in between giggles, and John, unable to speak, just nodded his head in agreement. So they bought it, along with a seriously tacky lava lamp that John had taken a shine to.  
  
 It was now teatime, and as they left the shop, they looked at each other and decided a little café would be just the right place to go next, and without a word they wandered back down the road in search of the one they had passed earlier in the day.  
People were starting to get off from work, and so John and Paul sat at the little table in the front window, and started people-watching John’n’Paul style.  
  
 “That one’s a meek librarian by day, but at night she is a dominatrix,” John offered, indicating a meek, librarian-looking woman who was inexplicably wearing some very sexy high heels as she raced for the bus. Paul nodded his agreement but then added, “She has to, John. She doesn’t make enough money in the library.” “There you go...Lady Madonna all over again,” John opined. Paul huffed as he contained his laughter.  
  
 “See that man waving down a cab?” Paul asked, using his eyebrows to point in the correct direction. John turned a little in his chair and looked over his shoulder.  
  
 “Yeah,” John said. “He’s the big boss at work, but when he gets home his wife beats him. She has his balls in a ringer.”  
  
 “Better than his nipples in a clamp,” Paul pointed out reasonably. John tried to kick Paul under the table, but Paul anticipated this, and was too fast for him. “You missed,” he taunted.  
  
 It was dark outside now, and a light rain fell. John and Paul stepped out from underneath the awnings of the café, with their coats buttoned up to their chins, and began to walk down a street loaded with bars, and young people gathering for their after work socials. They came upon one bar with nothing but men in it. John stopped walking, forcing Paul to stop and look at him with a two-eyebrow event.   
  
 “You wanna chance it?” John asked in an almost shy voice. Paul shrugged why not, and he headed towards the door first, again surprising John. Truthfully, Paul was curious. He’d only ever been in one gay bar in his whole life – that time in Paris. The two men squeezed into the bar, and were immediately surrounded by well-dressed men in mostly their twenties and thirties shouting over the crowd to be heard by their friends.  
  
 Paul pushed his way to the bar, and managed to gain the bartender’s attention. “Two coke and rum!” he shouted, smiling at this childish drink – the same one John and Paul had ordered that time in Paris. John would get a kick out of it. He carefully shielded the drinks as he made his way further into the bowels of the bar, finally seeing John waving at him in a tiny corner. John had commandeered the corner of one table, which was filled at the other end by four loud, talking-all-at-once friends. Paul slipped into the booth beside John, and they were practically sitting on top of each other – like they used to do all the time when they were young together.  
  
 “Cheers!” Paul said, and when John tasted the drink he at first scowled at the sweet taste and then laughed as he recognized its provenance.  
  
 “Cheers right back at ya, lad!” He shouted over the crowd.  
  
 It was wonderful. No one recognized them or even noticed them. They could lean back and feel each other up under the table and give each other lovesick looks and blushes to their hearts’ content and no one would care one iota. They both leaned their heads back and went silent, as the sound in the room began to become almost comforting.  
  
 “Remember that time in Paris…” John finally whispered in Paul’s ear. Paul laughed. “I was thinking about that, too. We sure were fish out of water.”  
  
 John nodded and then added, “Maybe so, but we were fish out of water in a fisherman’s boat.” Paul laughed out loud at that as the memories came back.  


*****

  
 John had begged Paul to go. They had found the flyer for the place in that gay porn shop John had dragged Paul into the night they first had sex. Paul had not wanted to go in, once he had gotten a load of those full-blown pictures of naked men suggestively flexing their muscles in the window. John had dragged him in, literally, by the arm, and over to a rack of magazines. Paul didn’t dare look at them, and instead began to notice that a little man had come out from behind the counter, and was literally flirting and flitting around him like a honeybee. John noticed too, and they both stared at the extremely effeminate man in stolid British disapproval.  
  
 “Go get your own!” John had suddenly shouted. “He’s mine!” Paul’s hand had gone up to his face and he shook his head in embarrassment. The little man looked terrified and fled. John made a crude laugh and brushed his hands together in the international brush off signal. John then diverted his attention to the magazine stand, and slowly, gradually, Paul moved closer to the magazines. He had reached one hand out – tentatively – and picked up a magazine with a man doing a blowjob on the cover. Paul’s expression was a mixture of horror and fascination. The magazine fell open to two men in the act of sodomy, and Paul made a squeaking sound and slammed the magazine shut. “You don’t want me doing that to you John! It looks like it hurts!” Paul’s raspy whisper had an edge of desperation to it.  
  
 “Consider this research, Paul. We have to figure out how to do this,” John had said, in a reasonable tone. “We neither of us have a clue how.” Paul just stared at him in aggravation, but he didn’t say anything. Sighing impatiently, and worrying that perhaps the graphic nature of the photographs had scared the poor boy half to death, John grabbed a handful of magazines at random and dragged Paul over to the cash register. Paul had stood there looking at his feet with a blush on his face throughout, but the little man at the register didn’t dare look at Paul, because he was scared to death of the beautiful one’s tough-looking lover. John had picked up the flyer for the gentlemen’s club while the man was running the register. He had folded it, and stuck it in his pocket.  
  
 They had burst out of that porn shop and Paul breathed in the fresh air and yelled “Free!” at the top of his lungs, and then had started running pell-mell down the cobbled street until he collided with the stone wall that lined the Seine. John was right behind him, hooping and hollering too. John had cozied up to Paul, put his arm around Paul’s waist, and set his chin on Paul’s shoulder. They had stood quietly there for a few moments until Paul had said, “You know I think this is a mistake.” John said nothing, but squeezed Paul a little tighter around the waist. “It could hurt our friendship, and the band.” More silence, and another tight squeeze. Paul sighed as he realized there would be no reprieve, and then he said in an all-businesslike tone, “Well, if we’re going to do this thing, we might as well go back to the room. But I need alcohol first.”  
  
 And so they had gone back to their pensione, and gotten drunk, and started playing with each other’s cocks, and then John had found the nerve to go down on Paul, not really knowing how to give a blowjob, but determined to do it anyway. This had been extremely exciting to Paul, and he came quickly. Afterwards, Paul had stroked John’s cock with a firm grip and a strong and certain rhythm (rhythm was Paul’s specialty, after all) until John had come, too. It wasn’t terribly romantic, but at least the ice had been broken, and there was nothing but time stretching ahead of them to a bright horizon. They could take forever to discover what it meant to be each other’s lovers, or at least that is how it felt to them at that moment.  
  
 It was John’s 21st birthday, October 9th, 1961, when Paul had awakened him, and asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate. They had gone to a café, where Paul had purchased John a hamburger and a shake with what little money remained in Paul’s pocket, and then John had wanted to go visit the Eifel Tower again – to climb to the top and stay up there for a while. Their shoulders were pressed together as they leaned over the railing at the top of the Tower, and gazed through wrought iron at the magical city of Paris. John felt a strong pulse of romance run through his veins and said, “Paris will always remind me of you.” Paul had turned to look at him. He didn’t speak, but he had looked touched. Paul had then gently pushed away from the railing and said, “Come on, John, let’s go back down.”  
  
 As they had a soda in a sidewalk café, John told Paul what he really wanted to do on his birthday. “I want to go to this club,” he said. He handed Paul the flyer, which was printed up in very flowery French. Paul had some French from school, and picked out some of the words.  
  
 “This is a poofter bar!” He finally said. “Men only. Romantic atmosphere.” He looked at John with alarm.  
  
 “I know. I want to see what it’s like.” John could see that Paul was not liking the idea of a gay bar. “Come on, Paul, it will be our only chance. The other blokes aren’t with us, and no one knows us here.” Paul gave in, but only because it was John’s birthday, and since John had been so generous to him on this trip, he felt he could hardly say no.  
  
 They finally found it (the directions were – of necessity – fairly vague), and, wearing the best of the clothes they had brought with them, and with their new Jurgen-style haircut brushed softly forward, they had presented themselves to the doorman. They had been prepared to talk their way in, but the man took one look at them and held the door wide open with a friendly smile. Paul had turned to John as they entered and whispered in his ear, “I don’t know if I like that we’re so welcome here.” John snorted in response.  
  
 They were both scared stiff, but because they were also performers, they strutted in as though they owned the place, each of them looking around with a studied look of fraudulent boredom. Before Paul could even put his foot up on the bar rail, an extremely elegant man in a beautiful black suit had insinuated himself right up against Paul’s side and spoke to him in a flow of silky French.  
  
 Paul had no idea what was being said, and his brain scrambled for some French. “Je ne parle pas le francais…” The words stumbled out. “Soulement un peu…”  
  
 “You are English?” The man asked politely.  
  
 Paul nodded with relief. He looked nervously for John, who was busy ordering them some coke and rum. Suddenly he felt a hand on his lower back, and his head snapped around to look the older man straight in the face.  
  
 The man rubbed Paul’s back a little and then said, “I have eyes only for you, but I will buy your friend a drink, too, if you wish.” Paul’s eyebrows flew up his forehead and he was shaking his head ‘no’. This was awkward. The man was very elegant; very polite. Paul’s inbred manners could not allow him to be rude to such a man. He needn’t have worried.  
  
 “Buzz off monsieur, he’s mine,” John had mangled the pronunciation of ‘monsieur’ as he growled, and simultaneously yanked Paul closer to him and away from the man’s gentle grasp.  
  
 The man immediately apologized and then excused himself. Paul was about to heave a sigh of relief when suddenly there were two more men, one on either side of him. The two men seemed to be snarling at each other the French equivalent of ‘I saw him first’. Paul looked at John in a panic, and John said loudly to both of them, “I’ll make it easy for you – scram!” They at first looked as though they were going to argue with John, but when they saw John’s tough looks and his angry brow-laden face, they backed off and disappeared.  
  
 “Come on, Paul, you’re causing a riot. Let’s find somewhere to sit where you’re not so much on display.” John led him by the arm to a table in the back of the club, where they both leaned their backs against the wall, and stared into their drinks. John spoke first. “It’s so fuckin’ annoying, is what it is.”  
  
 “What is?” Paul looked up, clueless.  
  
 “It’s bad enough this happens in regular bars with women. Now I’ve got to put up with it in a poufter bar, too?” John laughed to show he was kidding. “If I didn’t know I was so great, I would have a complex, going about with you.”  
  
 Paul shrugged and wagged his head in the direction of the bar. “One of ‘em is lookin’ pretty hard at _you,_ John.”  
  
 “Crumbs! I only get the crumbs lad!” John then smiled at his admirer, and as the man’s face lit up John then presented the man with a rude finger gesture.  
  
 “Ah, making friends and influencing people again, are we Lennon?” Paul remarked, noting the admirer’s crushed expression.  
  
 “He’s daft if he thinks I’d look at any other man when I have you, Paul.” The look John gave Paul melted Paul’s discomfort, and his face lit up in his beautiful unselfconscious smile. John bathed in that smile for a few seconds.  
  
 A piano was playing slow dance music, and male couples were dancing – no, more like grinding against each other erotically. John was entranced, and couldn’t help staring. Paul was kind of peeking out from behind the hand that he held up to his face.  
  
 “I want to dance, Paul,” John said.  
  
 “No!” Paul’s reaction was instinctive.  
  
 “Oh, give over, Pud. I want to experience all of it. It’s my birthday after all…”  
  
 Paul knew he had lost this argument already, so he stood up as if he was readying himself for the guillotine, and led John to the floor. They embraced each other lightly at first, and both started moving at once. They were both trying to lead and stepping all over each other’s feet, causing them to giggle and shove each other until finally they found a pace and pattern they could adjust to. The pianist started playing a lovely slow version of ‘ _Red Sails in the Sunset’_ , a song that they had recently added to the Beatles’ repertoire, with Paul singing the lead, except the Beatles covered the Platters’ version, which was quite upbeat. John and Paul smiled into each other’s eyes in recognition of the song, and soon Paul was softly singing the words directly into John’s ear.  
  
 All in all it had been a romantic night, once they managed to convey to the assembled multitude that they were together, and weren’t interested in being pulled by anyone else. The older men enjoyed watching the two beautiful boys dancing and then leaning close together over their table speaking softly to each other; perhaps they were even living vicariously through fantasy as they did so. Afterwards, John and Paul had floated back to the pensione, and that night the love they made was genuine, almost emotional, with nothing of the heavy breathing /rutting quality to it.   


*****

  
 Both men seemed to come out of their reverie at about the same time, and they found themselves now to be the older men, sitting in a bar full of young beautiful boys. _The circle of life._ Paul smiled gently at this thought, and turned towards John. _Oh, but those boys had nothing on his John_ , Paul thought.  John saw Paul’s expression, and squeezed Paul’s thigh under the table in response.  
  
 “Let’s go home,” John whispered raggedly. Paul nodded, and allowed John to pull him up by his arm, and they left the bar and found a cab. On their way back to the loft, they stopped to pick up some food to bring home, along with a bottle of wine. The quicker they had their dinner, the quicker they’d be making love again.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality: What a Concept!

 In the week after Paul returned to his family, John found himself regressing, back into a self-obsessed depression. He had dragged himself to his therapy. He had told himself in the car that he was not going to talk about Paul anymore. He was deeply regretting having brought it up, and had failed to attend any further appointments while Paul was there.  
  
 His therapist was not happy with him when he showed up late, and John was surly when she inquired into his absence.  
  
 “You’re in the very beginning stages of your therapy, John,” she said quietly. “To make recognizable progress, you need to prioritize your therapy.”  
  
 John stared straight at her in a challenging way, and provided no explanations or promises. The therapist held back a further lecture on the subject of avoidance. For all of his talkativeness, this patient didn’t say much. She sighed and dug back into the therapy. Avoidance would be a good subject to explore with this patient, but not when he had that mulish look on his face.  
  
 “When you say you have felt ‘depressed’ this week, what words or images come to mind?”  
  
 John liked the word games, so he brightened up a little. He jumped right in. “Everything’s dull, feels empty. I can’t seem to focus on anything – it all seems boring to me. My son can cheer me up at times, but mostly I’m just going through the motions.” John was quiet for a moment while he thought about the other symptoms – the endless fantasies about his time with Paul. He had to leave that out. “I want to sleep a lot. Don’t like to get up in the morning, can’t stay up at night.” He left out the part where he was fantasizing and sometimes masturbating in the darkness of his bedroom. He ran out of examples and looked hopefully at the therapist.  
  
 “What about being with your son cheers you up?”  
  
 John thought about that. “It’s his uncomplicated company. Also, I’m very proud of him – how smart and funny he is.” And he loves me the way I am. But John didn’t say that.  
  
 “In our last session we were talking about …”  
  
 “Yeah, and we’re not gonna talk about it again. I was weak, in a bad place. But that subject’s off the table.” John was leaning forward with a fierce – almost protective - expression on his face, and his therapist waited for a few moments.  
  
 “After you left last week, what thoughts did you have about what you talked about?”  
  
 “I was upset, I said too much. I don’t want to talk about it.” John was staring at her resentfully, as if he blamed her for somehow dragging the information out of him, or hypnotizing him or something.  
  
 “As an exercise for you to try at home, maybe you can think about why you don’t want to talk about it with me today. You don’t have to talk to me about your lover. But maybe next time we can discuss the _reasons why_ you don’t want to talk about that subject any more.”  
   
 John stared back at the therapist fiercely. He was trying to make her blink first, but she outwaited him with a placid expression. John leaned back, and scowled into his lap. He sat stone-faced for a good full minute, and finally sighed.  
  
 The therapist went on to attempt to squeeze as much juice out of John’s responses as possible, but she knew in her bones that this session and probably the next few were going to be unfruitful, because the patient would feel the need to withhold himself from her in response to his fear that he had spoken too freely during the previous session. They had lost what little momentum they had gained, but they had taken one giant step forward, and it wasn’t unusual for patients, after they had taken such a leap, to then fall back several steps and inch back up over a period of time to the vulnerable place again. Still, if a therapist isn’t patient, she’s in the wrong profession. She reminded John, as he left, that he needed to take the therapy more seriously in the future, by not only showing up, but by showing up on time.  
  
 John nodded impatiently, knowing that he’d be doing the same thing again in 6 weeks, when Paul was back. For him, the therapy was primarily to hold himself together while he waited for his time with Paul, and secondarily to find ways to keep from chasing Paul away again. It was only very incidentally about making himself well in a holistic way.   
  


*****

  
 Linda noticed that Paul was subdued upon his return to England. After the first rush of happy re-unionizing had faded, Paul seemed distant and preoccupied. Linda had no patience for this. If she was going to have to share Paul with John, she at least expected Paul to _be there_ when he was with her. She waited several days before she decided to speak to him about it. She chose a late weekday morning in March, after the kids were all off at school. They were sitting quietly at the kitchen table, detritus still scattered from the children’s breakfast. Linda was sipping coffee, and Paul was staring out the window while his coffee grew cold.  
  
 “Where are you?” Linda asked softly. She watched as Paul – with an obvious effort of will – dragged his attention away from his thoughts and into hers.  
  
 “Tired, I guess,” Paul obfuscated.  
  
 “From what?” Linda’s voice was a bit brisker. Paul’s attention became more focused.  
  
 “Doing nothing. When I’ve got nothing to do, I get tired.”  
  
 Linda considered this response, and decided it was true as far as it went. But it didn’t go far enough. “This isn’t going to work if you lock me out, Paul.”  
  
 Anxiety was patent on Paul’s face now. “It’s disorienting,” he said simply.  
  
 “That isn’t _my_ fault. _Or_ the children’s.”   
  
 “I know, I know,” Paul was growing defensive.  
  
 “No, seriously, Paul. If you can’t live comfortably with this arrangement, I’m going to have to ask you to choose one or the other.”  
  
 An ultimatum. That’s what Paul heard. Although Linda had actually told him ‘shape up or you’ll have to choose’, which was more of a pre-ultimatum warning, what Paul heard was a full-on ultimatum.  
  
 Linda noticed that Paul had a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. Part of her wanted to rush in and comfort him, but the stronger part of her understood that tough love was what was needed at that time. She repeated what she said, but softened it a little.  
  
 “I really need you to be the man I’m married to. I need your emotional and physical attention and affection. The kids need you to be the same old dad you’ve always been. We need you to find your way back to us as soon as possible.”  
  
 Paul nodded wordlessly, and reached out his hand to grasp hers, and he squeezed it. Linda’s words hurt him. “ _The man I’m married to.”_ Paul knew that Linda’s vision of him did not include him with a butt plug up his ass, or John whaling away on his ass and then sticking his cock in it, and Paul actually enjoying it! He forced out what he hoped looked like a warm smile. He would have to pretend to be comfortable until he actually felt comfortable. Paul knew he could do this. He had spent much of his life putting on a falsely cheerful front. He’d always found if you act as though you are happy, you actually do become happier. Having made this commitment to himself, he got up and hugged Linda, and nuzzled her neck. She shouldn’t have to see him weak and lost. She needed and wanted to see a Paul unfazed by emotional turmoil. So he’d just have to suck it up and become that man.  
  
 “I’m off to my music room to see if I can work,” Paul announced in a campy, over-dramatic voice.  
  
 After he left, Linda was left feeling as though there was something really off about Paul’s reaction. For the first time in a very long time Linda felt really afraid for her marriage.  
  


***** 

  
 Paul was randomly playing chords on the piano, but he wasn’t working. His mind was a morass of non-specific anxieties. While fighting off the constant intruding image of him crying out in pleasure as John fucked him, Paul reminded himself that he had never been one to unpack his concerns and examine them one by one. But maybe this was the time and reason to start. _What_ was at the bottom of this overarching anxiety? The world “Ultimatum” popped into his head, probably because this was the _latest_ trigger. There were others - deeper ones - Paul knew, but he had to start somewhere.  
  
 There had only been one ultimatum in his life that had unhinged him – when John had told him to choose between him and Jane. In India. John had given him time to think about it, but had frequently reminded him that the clock was ticking. Paul had felt the same way during those few months as he did now – anxious, detached, and always bargaining for time with both lovers.  
  
 John had been upset that Paul had decided to leave India earlier than planned. He told Paul that he was being obstructive again, like with the LSD. Paul didn’t ever bother to respond to John’s rantings while they were going on, but this particular argument only solidified Paul’s quiet determination to leave India. That whole LSD thing had really fucked him up, and he would have been better off without it. He should have continued to refuse to do it.  
  
 Paul had worried that John would be all pissy when he got back from India, but after Paul left, John had lost all interest in the Maharishi and came back too. Upon returning home, the first thing John did was to call Paul and remind him of the ultimatum.  
  
 Paul and Jane’s relationship, meanwhile, had become strained. She didn’t like Paul pressuring her to give up jobs. When she was offered a several-weeks job in Bristol, she accepted it in spite of their promises not to be separated, and did so without consulting Paul first. This, of course, led Paul to decide that he was now off the hook on the no-more-philandering deal.  
  
 On top of all this, Apple Corp was introduced to the world, and John and Paul were doing interviews to promote it. The interviews turned sour, with reporters asking questions only a businessman could answer, and neither Paul nor John understood the _questions_ much less the answers to them, so they were made to feel and look stupid. This, of course, had caused John to immediately blame Paul for the whole experience. They had gone together to New York and stayed at the apartment of a friend of Brian Epstein’s. That was when Linda reappeared in Paul’s life, although Paul hadn’t realized at the time that this wasn’t going to be a quick fling. John had been irritated by Linda’s presence, but didn’t sense there was anything special about her. And he reminded Paul about the ultimatum at least once a day. Paul said he needed more time, and John just pointed at his watch and said, ‘Tick tock. Tick tock.”  
  
 Linda and her young daughter rode with them to the airport when they left New York, and Linda had slipped a sealed note into Paul’s hand, which Paul quickly pocketed. John had no earthly idea why they were there. Especially the child. As soon as they were seated on the plane, John held his hand out expectantly and leveled his intense stare at Paul’s face. Paul responded by raising both eyebrows. John’s eyes quickly indicated Paul’s pocket. _Oh! The note._ Paul pulled it out and John took it and proceeded to read it. He then handed it back to Paul without a word. But a few moments later he said,  
  
 “Not sure what you see in her. She’s not your usual type.”  
  
 “ _Type?_ I don’t have a ‘type’.”  
  
 “You do, you know. Very feminine-looking women. This one isn’t feminine.”  
  
 Paul was insulted on Linda’s behalf. “She is to _me_.”  
  
 “She’s so… _tweedy_. Like she’s come from a very _old_ family.”  
  
 “I like her, and she looks great to me.” Paul’s voice was snippy, and his tone held finality in it, so John put his hands up in the air in the universal sign of insincere surrender. He then tapped his watch again. Paul had a stormy look on his face for the rest of the flight.  
  
 John stayed in Paul’s house the night they got back from New York. Jane was not a happy camper. John cheerfully chatted away in the front room pretending not to notice Jane’s signals to Paul that she wanted to be alone with him. When she finally got up and announced loudly that she was going to bed, John quickly responded before Paul could move, “Paul and I have stuff to talk about.” Jane flounced out after glaring at Paul.  
  
 John turned to Paul and said in a no-nonsense voice, “You need to give me an answer, Pud. I can’t wait forever. It’s been _two months_!”  
  
 Paul felt panicky, but he decided to portray himself as the wronged party in this transaction. “I don’t know why this is suddenly such an emergency, John. Why is it so important right this moment?”  
  
 “Because you’re planning to get married in July. That’s two months away. I don’t want you to get married. We’ve been over this.”  
  
 “John, I want children! I’ve always wanted a family! You can’t make me choose – it isn’t fair.”  
  
 “We can share Julian.”  
  
 “ _What?”_ Are you _crazy_? Cyn is going to keep Julian if you leave her.”  
  
 “Who says? I’m the one with all the money.”  
  
 Paul was angry now. “You’d do that to her? And to Julian? No! I won’t be any part of that!”  
  
 John, seeing that there was no point in pushing this agenda item right now, said, “Okay, so he’ll visit us. She can’t keep me from spending time with him.”  
  
 Paul calmed down. There was no arguing with John. “Well, if you need an answer right this minute, the answer is ‘no’.” Paul’s voice was firm and stretched thin.  
  
 John appeared to be unpleasantly shocked by the certainty in Paul’s voice. He blinked first. “No, you don’t have to tell me now. But soon – and before your wedding plans go too far.” John was waiting for a response, but all Paul could do was scowl at him. For a moment Paul saw amusement flit across John’s face, and this made Paul angrier. He remembered the time John had said to a room full of people, “Being scowled at by Paul McCartney is like being glared at by a puppy.”   
  


***** 

  
 Paul’s hands were still absently hitting random piano chords when his conscious mind put an abrupt end to the memory of the ultimatum. Paul avoided going ‘there’ because of the way it all ended. There were times in the past when he’d questioned the wisdom of the choice he made, but once the kids were born, and his career was going well, he had stopped having those doubts.  
  
  _Now they’re back, and that’s why I feel so bad,_ Paul realized. Some people would say he was lucky to have two great loves in one lifetime. However, Paul understood at a cellular level that it wasn’t so great when you had both great loves _at the same time_. You could be perfectly happy with one or the other, but both at once was too painful for everybody concerned.  
  
 That’s when Paul finally understood what was really bothering him. The ultimatum he was facing now was not coming from either John or Linda. They each had decided to be content with part of his time and part of his love. No, the ultimatum was coming from _within_. It had been painful to leave Linda for two weeks, and now it was painful to leave John for six weeks. This was a state of affairs he would either have to adjust to, or he would need to make a choice.  
  
 And then there was that other – trickier – burr under his saddle. Those two weeks with John had been like a long series of intense moments cut out of time. It had turned Paul’s life upside down. He didn’t know – with as much certainty as he once had – who he was. He remembered allowing himself to be overwhelmed and completely dominated by John, and feeling like he was falling in space, but somehow he felt there would be a soft landing. Like maybe on a cloud. He had seen sides of John that Paul didn’t even know were there. How strong and yet tender, how aggressive and yet protective John had been – Paul had no idea that John had that in him, or that he himself would be enthralled by it.  
  
 Up until now, Paul had been able to sort of breeze through his relationship with Linda and his relationship with John. He had been basically the same bloke in both relationships. But that had changed now. Now he was – sometimes, half of the time he was with John – a different person. This was incredibly unsettling, but despite the emotional confusion, and yes – even pain – Paul missed being with John. He missed the way he felt when sheltered in John’s arms. The last time he had felt that secure was when he was a very young boy, and his mother had held him in her arms.  
  
 Paul shook his head, as if he could shake the thoughts out of his head. He banged out a concluding chord on the piano, and then walked out of the music room and towards the heart of the house – to the kitchen...to Linda.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here Comes Santa Claus…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most everything is made up, except hopefully where the family members were living at the time of the fictional meetings and conversations. I read in a few places that John's sister Jacqui went through a bad patch with a heroin addiction, so I referenced that. I do not know if the websites are accurate, but I didn't make it up - if they're wrong, then I'm wrong too, and I apologize. I don't know the living conditions of Mimi Smith, either, although I understand she lived in the house John bought her until her death. I know that Mimi loved Wagner and classical music, and was contemptuous of rock 'n roll music, that I also know she was very bitter about Yoko after John died, and claimed that Yoko had kept John away from her, was stingy with money, and didn't treat Julian right. Mimi said alot of other things that (apparently) weren't true, so I don't know if her allegations about Yoko were true, either. So,to sum up, THIS IS ALL FICTION with only a smattering of factoids.

 A few weeks had passed since Paul had returned from New York, and he was feeling much more himself. He was basically a very stable person, emotionally, and tended to right himself after emotional turmoil fairly quickly. He hadn’t solved his problem, but he had decided to pretend like he had. That way he could be happy and comfortable again. A bonus was that Linda seemed to be relieved.  
  
 Today, however, he had a project to start. John had provided him with telephone numbers and addresses of his relatives. John’s family was apparently spread all over England at the time, and Paul wondered if John had really called and warned these people as he promised. He stared a bit longer at the first name and number on the list, and shrugged. No time like the present. He picked up the phone and dialed.  
  
 A crisp female voice with a slight Jamaican accent was on the other end. “Hello?”  
  
 “Yes, hello, I’m calling for Mrs. Mimi Smith. Is she available?” Paul had to clear his voice first, and he found that he sounded a bit like a very nervous teenager. Mimi always did that to Paul. It didn’t matter how old he got, he still felt like that awkward teenage boy, looking up at her through his eyelashes while she made it pellucid that he was far below the likes of John.  
  
 A moment later, Paul heard that definite – almost strident – voice again. It had been a while since he had seen or spoken to her. “Who’s there?” The voice demanded.  
   
 “Hello, Mrs. Smith. It’s Paul McCartney.”  
  
 Silence was the response. Paul cleared his throat again. “Did John tell you I was going to call?”  
  
 “How d’I know it’s you?”  
  
 Paul actually grinned at the phone. Good ole, crusty ole Mimi. “I can whistle a few bars of that Wagner piece you were always turning up, to drown out John and me on our guitars, if that will satisfy you.”  
  
 Paul heard a “humph” sound on the other end. Of course she remained (as she always had been before) unimpressed. “What do you want?” She asked in a brusque tone.  
  
 “John wanted me to talk with you about a few things on his direct behalf. It would be better if we talked in person. Do you mind if I came to see you?”  
  
 “What else have I got to do?” Mimi was trying to sound gruff, but Paul could tell she was curious now.  
  
 Paul arranged to come visit her on the next Sunday, and then rang off.   
  


*****

  
  
 It was a 3½-hour drive from his home near Rye, in Sussex, to Mimi’s shore side bungalow near Poole, Dorset. Paul playfully inserted a Wagner piece in to his car stereo as he drove, joking to himself that he needed to “get in the mood” for visiting the redoubtable Mrs. Smith. He had explained to Linda what he had to do, and she had not quibbled. Paul thought she was a little disappointed not to be included in the trip, but Paul figured Mimi would just be excruciatingly rude to Linda, and then he’d lose his temper, so best to leave that distraction at home.  
  
 It was teatime when Paul arrived, and he approached the house nervously with a huge handful of daffodils (they were in season at the time, and daffodils were Mimi’s favorite flowers, or at least they used to be.) He stood on the front step, smoothing his hair like a nervous suitor, before ringing the doorbell. The home carer opened the door wearing a crisp white uniform, and looked very pleasantly surprised to see Paul McCartney on the doorstep.  
  
 “Come on in, Mr. McCartney, she’s waiting for you.” She had a wry, teasing expression on her face.  
  
 Paul smiled back, acknowledging her point quietly in a little nod of his head, and said, “Please call me Paul. What kind of mood is she in?”  
  
 “She is really very excited. She has been excited all week. Made me clean the house three times. But she’s going to pretend that she’s not pleased.”  
  
 Paul sighed, again nodding his head in understanding, and then he was shown into Mimi’s sitting room, where she was arrayed in her best chair, wearing her best dress, and looking every bit as intimidating as she’d ever done. Paul approached her, gave her a light kiss on the cheek, and shyly handed her the flowers. He watched her face carefully, and he saw the little gleam of delight pass across it before she wiped it clean. She turned to her home help and said, “Jasmine, take these away. Put them in something.” The woman winked at Paul after her back turned away from Mimi, and then she whisked out of the room. Mimi then gestured to a chair opposite hers, and Paul sat down.  
  
 “You look exactly the same,” Mimi said to Paul flatly.  
  
 “Except for the school uniform…” Paul teased her. That had been a sore spot for Mimi. The Irish RC from the council flats had graduated from the prestigious Liverpool Institute, whereas her beloved nephew had barely made it out of a lower tiered school.  
  
 Mimi’s sharp eyes met Paul’s, and she knew then that he was sassing her. She smirked back at him, acknowledging the hit gracefully. “So what’s so important? What’s it all about?” She asked, nodding to the maid who had arrived to deliver the tea tray and cups, along with little teacakes. Paul poured the tea, having noticed that Mimi’s hands were severely arthritic. Mimi watched him with that John-like smirk on her face, and those John-like ironic eyes.  
  
  
 Paul handed her a cup, took his, and then leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable. “John says you told him that you are under pressure to move out of your home and into assisted living.”  
   
 Mimi’s first reaction was to be angry that John had shared such private family business with this sassy upstart! Then she saw that Paul’s face was disinterested and impersonal. At least he wasn’t _enjoying_ her reduced state. And the opportunity to complain about Yoko was too tempting to forego. “Yoko thinks I’m all washed up, and I should save her a lot of money. She wants to sell this place, and send me off to a block of flats for old people, in Bournemouth. She never could stand that John had people in his life before her! She tries to keep me invisible from John.”  
  
 Paul, sadly, agreed with Mimi’s assessment of Yoko’s tendency to block John’s old family and friends out of the picture (he himself had been perhaps the most blatant example, not counting Julian), but he wasn’t yet sure if Yoko was really motivated only by money in wanting Mimi to move to assisted living. “Have you seen the place?” Paul asked in a neutral tone, as if he were just mildly curious.  
  
 “Never been there, but she’s sent me pamphlets.” Mimi pointed at a desk drawer. “In there, go get ‘em.”  
  
 Paul got up obediently, and found the brochures, and Mimi gestured for him to look at them. Paul did so, leafing through the materials which showed a perfectly pleasant building, with snug but nice little suites, and a lovely dining room where groups of old people were apparently engaged in some kind of sing-along activity. _Well, that rips it,_ Paul thought with a smirk. “You’d hate this, wouldn’t you?” Paul asked Mimi.  
  
 She nodded firmly and said, “I’d rather _die._ ”  
  
 Paul found the financial details amongst the brochures, and noted that the place was pricey, but not outrageously so. He knew there were plenty of outrageously expensive assisted living situations where people had their own townhouses or cottages, with live-in assistance, lots of privacy, 5-star meals served by French taught chefs - and no forced group activities! That would be more up Mimi’s alley, if her health really required assisted living. Yoko’s selection was not anywhere near as posh as that. Paul sighed.  
  
 “I know this will sound nosy, Mimi, but I have to ask in order to properly advise John.” Paul had slipped in the “Mimi”, and she hadn’t reacted to it as he feared she would. “How much are your monthly expenses?”  
  
 “Will John listen to your advice?” Mimi asked succinctly. She loved her John, but she also knew that Yoko wore the pants in that relationship. It bitterly disappointed her that John had turned out to be such a wimp, but it was much easier on her conscience to blame Yoko for this, than her own unique way of handling John when he was a child and teenager.  
  
 Paul responded, “He’ll _listen_ to it, Mimi,” Paul said gently, “but the thing is, I don’t know if he’ll _do_ anything about it. I will certainly do whatever is in my power to encourage him to do so.” Mimi’s eyes met Paul’s, and she knew what he meant. John lived with Yoko, and thus she would always have the last word.  
  
 “I keep a log book. Yoko thinks I’m a fool with money, but I’ve always done my own accounts. She gives me naught but £300 per month.”  
  
 Paul tried not to let his face show shock. “This is enough to pay _all_ of your living expenses?”  
  
 “Don’t have a mortgage, do I? But I do pay the groceries, the gas and electric, and also Jasmine’s salary.”  
  
 Paul’s mouth was working before he spoke. He had to speak very carefully so as not to arouse the dragon inside this seemingly harmless old woman. “Doesn’t leave much extra, does it?” Paul asked in a tone that showed almost no real interest in hearing the answer.  
  
 “I’d like to go on little trips. Like, to Torquay, or to Brighton. Every so often, maybe the train to London for an afternoon’s shopping and tea and overnight stay in a nice hotel.”  
  
 “And you don’t have enough funds to do that, I suppose.” Paul said it out loud as if it were just a thought bouncing in his head.  
  
 “Not with my medicine, and other incidentals. And I also have to hold some back for when the house needs to be fixed.”  
  
 “Have you talked to John about this?” Paul asked, surprised that she really was asking for so little, and yet John had not given it to her already.  
  
 “I told him that that Yoko of his was trying to push me out of my bungalow, and I didn’t have enough money, and he said he’d find out about it, but he never did.” Mimi was pouting in that moment, and her expression was so like John’s that Paul had to stop himself from getting up and chucking her on the chin and then giving her a kiss on the nose.  
  
 “So, I’ll have a chat with John and we’ll see what comes of it. Right?” Paul was twinkling at her. He decided it was time to change the subject, and just visit. “I listened to Wagner’s _Ring Circle_ on the trip down, in the car,” Paul confessed, with a teasing little smile on his face.  
  
 Mimi met Paul’s tease straight on, and then raised him. “I always said classical music put that noise you and John made into the shade.”   
  


*****

  
  
 The next day, Paul left a message for John at Jason and Gerry’s, and less than an hour later John called him back.  
  
 “So, I went to see Mimi yesterday,” Paul said.  
  
 “Yes? How’d it go?” John sounded eager to hear about his Auntie.  
  
 “She’s as peppery as ever,” Paul chuckled. “Never gave me an inch.”  
  
 John smiled, remembering how Mimi had been alternately charmed and infuriated by Paul – his choirboy face, his relatively posh accent, and his exquisite manners were all major pluses, but then there was that sneaky little twinkle in his eyes, his questionable heritage and religion, and the way he led her precious John astray.  
  
 “What did you find out?” John asked.  
  
 “She’s in fine fettle. She doesn’t belong in assisted living, John. She’s got a great home help, Jasmine, who is wise to all her tricks and moods. Jasmine showed me Mimi’s meds, and they’re all in order, and she told me Mimi was in grand health and got about entirely on her own with just a little help from her.”  
  
 “Well, that’s a relief to hear,” John said, frankly relieved. “And what about her expenses?”  
  
 “When was the last time you increased her allowance, John? She’s receiving only the equivalent of about $550 per month, and from that she has to pay for Jasmine, their food, the utilities, her meds, and any other incidentals. She wants to go on little weekend trips to places like Brighton, and she’d like to take a sleepover trip up to London, on the train, once in awhile. She can’t do that with the money you’re sending her.”  
  
 John felt guilt rushing over him. “So what should I do?”  
  
 “You should inform Yoko to increase Mimi’s allowance to  £1000 pounds per month, and insist upon writing the checks yourself. You can include them in those letters you’re always writing her.”  
  
 John was a little embarrassed by that. “Yeah, I write her at least once a month,” he admitted.  
  
 “I saw. She showed me the whole box full. They’re all tied up in packets with blue ribbon.” Paul was grinning on the other end, and John had to chuckle.  
  
 “I’m a bit of a softy about her.” John said.  
  
 “Then you really need to do what I’ve asked you to do. Let me know when you’ve sorted it out. I’m not going to see Cyn about Julian until I know that you have acted on my advice for Mimi. It wouldn’t be fair to give them false hope.”  
  
 After hanging up and a few words with Jason, John walked slowly back to his flat, and went to find Yoko in her office. He literally felt as though he were about to beard a lion in its den. When he got there, he blurted it right out before he lost his courage.  
  
 “I’m increasing Mimi’s allowance to £1000 pounds per month,” he announced.  
  
 “What? That’s more than tripling it! What does she need so much money for? Someone will come along and con her out of it!” Yoko was (a) shocked and (b) exasperated by John’s sudden declaration.  
  
 “It isn’t that easy to con Mimi, Yoko. But even so, if it happens, then I’ll just give her more money.”  
  
 “The amount I’m sending her is more than enough to pay for what she needs,” Yoko said sharply.  
  
 “She raised me, and I want her to have everything she _wants_ in addition to what she needs. And I want my own checkbook. I want to write the checks for her personally. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows the money is coming directly from me.”  
  
 Yoko saw the stubborn look in John’s jaw, and it didn’t take her long to figure out what was going on here. “Paul is interfering, isn’t he? He never knows when to stay out of our business. You never would have thought of this…”  
  
 “Paul did the research, but I asked him to. He didn’t want to at first.”  
  
 “Well, if he feels so responsible, maybe _he_ should pay Mimi the extra money every month!” Yoko was fuming inside. That man was such a meddling busybody!  
  
 John shrugged. “She’s my Aunt, I want to give her some of my money, and I want a checkbook.”  
  
 “It’s _our_ money, John. Don’t forget it.”  
  
 “Still…I can see you’re not wanting to cooperate with me, so I’ll go to the accountant myself to get the checkbook.” John strode out after this announcement, leaving a stunned and shaken Yoko behind. Things were beginning to slip out of her control now…she’d feared it was only a matter of time. Paul always filled John’s head with notions that he could do anything he wanted.   
  


  
*****

  
 Approximately ten days later, Mimi was excited to see a letter from her John on the silver tray, along with her letter opener. She grabbed these objects immediately, and slit open the envelope. A letter and a check fell out. The check was for £1000 pounds. The letter said,  
  
 “Dearest Mimi,  
  
 “This is your new monthly stipend. I’ll be sending it to you myself. I’ve been terribly remiss in not doing this sooner. My only excuse is, until lately, I haven’t had Paul McCartney around to kick my big fat ass. Oops. Sorry for that. My large, ample bum. Like that better? This should allow you to go a’trippin’ to your heart’s content, luv!”  
  
 The letter rambled on about other subjects for another two pages, but suddenly Mimi noticed there were droplets of water on the letter, smearing the ink. Her hand rushed up to her cheek, and she felt the unfamiliar tears there.   
  
****  
  
 Paul hung up the phone, and felt joy and a little pride that John had actually followed through, and was sending Mimi more money. He had feared that Yoko would somehow scuttle that boat. Feeling more confident, he picked up his phone again, and dialed the second number on the list.  
  
 “Hello?” A man’s voice. It wasn’t Julian, Paul felt sure, so he must be Cynthia’s husband, Jim Christie.  
  
 “Hello, I’m calling to speak with Cynthia..er…Christie,” Paul said in a very polite and impersonal voice.  
  
 “And who should I say is calling?” The voice asked.  
  
 “I’m an old friend of hers, from way back, from Liverpool. I’m Paul McCartney.”  
  
 “Really!” The man exclaimed. “Well, blimey, hang on a minute.”  
  
 Paul waited patiently, trying to imagine the conversation between Cynthia and her – what was he? – _third_ husband. Finally Cynthia was on the line.  
  
 “Paul! What a wonderful surprise!” Cynthia sounded genuinely pleased.  
  
 “I take it John didn’t warn you I’d be calling…”  
  
 “John? Oh, heavens no. He never talks to me.”  
  
 “Maybe he mentioned it to Jules?”  
  
 Cynthia smiled in recollection of the fact that Paul had been the only one who ever called Julian, “Jules”. But then, Julian was the only one who ever called Paul, “Uncle Puppy”, so she guessed they were even. “I’m pretty sure Julian would have mentioned it to me…” Cynthia said, her voice drifting off at the end.  
  
 “Well, no matter. John wanted me to check in with you and Jules to see how you’re doing. Could the two of you stand my company for a few hours some day soon?”  
  
 “Well, that would be lovely, Paul. I’m sure Julian will be very excited to see you. It’s been a few years…”  
  
 Paul sobered. “I know, Cyn, I’m sorry, but I didn’t like to intrude. You were married again, to the Italian guy, and he made it clear to me that he didn’t want me interfering with his relationship with Jules. He said it was too confusing for Jules to have so many dad figures, so I backed off.”  
  
 Cyn remembered that conversation, and how crushed Paul had seemed, although gracious and polite in defeat. She had also remembered Julian asking her about Paul over and over as the months and years went by. The second husband –“the Italian” – was long gone now. She didn’t think Jim Christie would mind as much as Roberto had if Paul connected up with Julian, because Julian was of age now, and he also had a very strained relationship with Jim. Paul might even help in reducing some of the strain, she thought.  
  
 “When can you come? How about Saturday night? I can make dinner for you.”   
  
 Paul immediately acquiesced and then asked shyly if Julian was home. “Do you mind if I say hello to him?” Paul asked humbly.  
  
 “He’s off with his latest girlfriend, I’m afraid. He’ll be twenty in a month, and he’s at her place more than he’s here. He’s making noises about moving permanently to London. But I know he’ll be excited to see you on Saturday. Are you bringing Linda? The kids?”  
  
 “Not this trip, I’m afraid. It’s a pleasure for me to see you both, but I’ve also been given a business assignment by John.”  
  
 Cynthia laughed. “ _That’_ ll be the day,” she chortled, “ _John_ giving _you_ business assignments!”  
  


*****

  
 So the next Saturday, Paul took a commuter flight to Carlisle, in Cumbria, and then rented a car for the short drive south to Cynthia’s home in Penrith. He remembered another time – back in 1968 - when he took a day off to drive over to see Cyn and Julian…it was the day he had started writing the song, ‘ _Hey Jude.’_ He had brought a single red rose for her then, just like the one he had purchased in the airport, which was sitting next to him on the passenger seat.  
  
 Cynthia and her husband Jim came out on to the porch as Paul parked in front of the house. She came down the steps exclaiming over the rose, and then she embraced him. Paul was surprised at the strength and length of her hug. It seemed for a while as though she didn’t want to release him.  
  
 Cynthia was as surprised as Paul was when these strong feelings ran through her. Paul – who had been so near and dear to John. Who had always encouraged John to treat her better than he normally would, and who stepped in to give Julian a taste of real fathering, when John could not bring himself to do so. Yes, Paul could be a spoiled brat sometimes, sometimes clueless to others’ feelings, but he was a true and loyal friend despite it all, and she felt the tears welling up in her eyes for all that was lost of their mutual youth.  
  
 A moment later, Julian was on the doorstep, waiting shyly for Paul to notice him. Paul approached eagerly, and Julian put out his hand. Paul eschewed the hand, and held his arms open wide for Julian to return a big, tight hug. Julian was amazed that he remembered Paul’s smell. It brought back a number of hazy memories from his young childhood. Paul said in his ear, “I’ve missed you Jules,” and Julian tightened his embrace in response.  
  
 Paul leaned away and then said, nodding his head in that direction, “Your motorcycle then?”  
  
 Julian beamed with pride as he acknowledged ownership of it.  
  
 “Mind if I take a closer look?”  
  
 The two men walked towards the motorcycle, while Paul gave it an expert once over. “I had one for a few years, but Linda made me give it up after the third time I landed in a ditch.” Paul said wryly. Julian laughed.  
  
 “Mum would too if she knew how many times I’ve taken a flyer.”  
  
 “It’ll be our little secret then,” Paul chuckled.  
  
 They followed Cynthia into the house, and sat around in the sitting room, drinking a crisp white wine, and reminiscing about their Liverpool teenage years.  
  
 “You were a posh one back then, Cyn,” Paul said, in full raconteur mode. “You had a fluffy jumper – pale yellow it was – I had dreams about it at night. Looked like butter.”  
  
 Cynthia giggled and shook her head. “You’re incorrigible,” she said.  
  
 “It’s true! I tried to buy me girlfriend at the time one just like it, but we could never find one…” Paul had a tendency to slip into a scousier accent when he was around his old Liverpudlian friends and family members.  
  
 “Which of your dozens of girlfriends was that, Paul?” Cynthia asked with a twinkle in her eye.  
  
 “Don’t know,” he admitted. “But none of them held a candle to you, Cyn.”  
  
 “Oh, you’re so full of malarchy, Paul,” Cyn scoffed. “Never worked on me, though, did it?”  
  
 “Not for want of trying.”  
  
 “Julian, he’s so full of it,” Cynthia said, looking over to her son. “He never would have even flirted with me, or your Dad would have crushed him.”  
  
 “John? Crush _me_?” Paul snorted. “I’d like to see him try.” A brief memory of being smacked with a swatter went through his brain, but he quickly brushed that away.  
  
 One story Paul wasn’t going to share was the one where he’d playfully snatched Cyn’s sunglasses off in the pub – _who wore sunglasses indoors at night after all?_ – and exposed a black eye. Cyn had seen the expression on his face, and had stumbled out a pathetic explanation. “I’m so clumsy…” In a rage, Paul had walked over to John, who was banging on the side of the jukebox that never worked well, and confronted him. “So you’re hitting women, now, are ye?” Paul had growled softly into John’s ear. John had denied it, but Paul had said, “It happens again, and I’ll _flatten_ you!” Men didn’t hit women in Paul’s world, and he was thoroughly disgusted by it. Paul shook his head to empty out the bad memory.  
  
 Julian was listening to the old stories with an avid interest. He always wanted to hear bits and pieces about his father. Julian felt as though he barely knew him.  
  
 Paul, plucking up his mood again, turned to Julian and said, “I used to meet your mum and dad in the pub, and neither of ‘em would wear their glasses, so I could always sneak up on them. Then they would both try to pretend they’d seen me the whole time.”  
  
 “We did see you, Paul, we just wanted you to have your little fun,” Cynthia said tauntingly.  
  
 “ _Ooh_! _Liar_! You neither of you could see one foot in front of your face!” Paul and Cynthia were laughing, and then Paul turned to Julian. “How’s your eyesight, lad? Your genes aren’t the best in that regard…”  
  
 Julian made a face and said, “I can actually see about _two_ feet in front of my face. And I don’t like to wear them, either.” He picked his eyeglasses out of his pocket and held them up, to general laughter.  
  
 There was small talk about their present lives at the dinner table, with Cyn and Julian doing most of the talking. After dinner, Paul decided to help Cyn with the dishes, so he could talk privately with her for a few moments. Paul was good at dishes; at home, Linda cooked, and Paul led the kids in cleaning up after.   
  
 “John has asked me to look into Julian’s financial situation,” Paul said softly.  
  
 “Oh? Really?” Cyn looked deeply skeptical. “Are you sure it wasn’t _your_ idea?” Cynthia remembered how Paul had sent Julian money on each of his birthdays, never missing a one, and how once – when she was without a husband - he had even paid to fix her roof.  
  
 “It was his idea, really,” Paul protested. “He asked me to check up on Julian, and Mimi, and his sisters. I went to see Mimi, and John made a substantial increase to her allowance afterwards, so I believe he is sincere.”  
  
 “So you and John are talking again?” Cynthia asked in an idle tone, although Paul could see that she was intensely curious about the answer.  
  
 “We kind of reconciled our friendship a few years ago, that time he came to England, yes. We see each other a few times a year, talk on the phone.”  
  
 Cynthia stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Paul with pleasure. “Paul, I’m so glad to hear that. Are you working together at all?”  
  
 Paul made sure his face showed no emotion other than casual friendliness. “No, no, it isn’t about music. We’re just behaving like grown ups finally.” He laughed, and Cynthia laughed too. “We don’t want the press to get wind of it, though.”  
  
 Cynthia nodded in understanding, and then asked, “What does John want to know about Julian?”  
  
 “Aside from how he’s doing, he wonders if Julian needs any financial support.”  
  
 Cynthia said, “Everyone wants more money, Paul.” And she smiled to take the edge off the comment.  
  
 “And how about you, Cyn? How are _you_ doing?” Paul looked Cynthia straight in the eyes as he asked this question.  
  
 “Yoko will not let John give me any money, and I don’t think John would want to anyway.” Cynthia said this not with anger, but with a resigned forbearance.  
  
 “Julian, then?”  
  
 “He wants to move to London. He wants to explore starting a band. I think he would appreciate some seed money for that.”  
  
 A bit later, Paul and Julian were talking alone together on the third floor of the little house, where Julian lived. Paul was sipping from a tumbler of whiskey, while Julian was pulling licks out of a bottle of bear every so often.  
  
 “Your dad wants to provide you with more financial support, and he’s asked me to advise him about what is most appropriate.”  
  
 “One pound sterling would be more financial support than he’s given me since I left school,” Julian said with latent bitterness.  
  
 Paul was privately shocked. He hoped Julian was joking. “I’m sorry?” Was all Paul could manage in response.  
  
 “Dad only ever gave me mum a piddling amount of court ordered child support, and that ended when I turned 18.” Julian’s voice was filled with simmering anger.  
  
 Paul stared at Julian for a long while, empathy and guilt vying for supremacy in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jules, I didn’t know. I should have been there for you, but your stepdad…”  
  
 “Mum told me. I know how it was. _You’ve_ sent me more money over the years than Dad ever did. And at least you always remembered my birthday. You know, you sent me a graduation present, but I never heard from my Dad.”  
  
 Paul was fighting off tears. Tears for Julian. He could do nothing about the past, but he would lift heaven and earth to change the future. “Well, your dad’s been a right sod, and not just to you. At least he wasn’t calling you names in the newspapers!” Paul grinned, and Julian’s face relaxed into a mild smile. Paul became serious again and said, “Your dad is a complicated man. He has always been a bit of a mystery, even to me. But one thing I know about him is that he loves the people he loves very deeply, and even if he never shows it or says it, he feels it. It’s as if he’s afraid the world will come crashing down if he allows people to see how deeply he feels.”  
  
 Julian was watching Paul’s face, and listening to his words. He nodded slightly, taking it in, and believing it, because he had vague memories of being around his dad when he was a child, and he sometimes knew that his dad loved him, even when he didn’t say it or show it.  
  
 “Anyway,” Paul continued, “he was a jerk not to be there for you earlier, but he wants to be there now. Can you forgive him, and accept what he wants to give you now?”  
  
 Julian nodded his head in tentative agreement, but said nothing.  
  
 “Your mum says you want to move to London to give being in a band a try. Could you use some help with that?”  
  
 “It’s kind of a dream right now, because I don’t really have any money at all.”  
  
 “I’ve got an idea, why don’t you come to visit me in my London house sometime next week, and we’ll go flat hunting?”  
  


*****

  
 The next day, Paul left another message for John, and John quickly returned the call.  
  
 “I went to see Cyn and Jules yesterday,” Paul started, “and they’re rubbing along. I kind of embarrassed myself a little, though.”  
  
 “Oh? How?”  
  
 “I assumed you were sending Jules an allowance, so I started my conversation with him by asking if he could do with an increase in his allowance.”  
  
 “Yeah? So?”  
  
 “He told me you have sent him no money at all for two years now – since he turned 18.”  
  
 “That’s not true. We’ve been sending him money every month based on the court order.”  
  
 “The support order ended when he turned 18, John.” Paul’s voice was soft; he was trying not to let his anger at John show through.  
  
 John was silent.  
  
 “Sean has everything, doesn’t he John? He lives in a posh apartment, goes on exotic vacations, has home tutors, even a fuckin’ PAC MAN machine.” Paul’s voice was starting to wobble as he grew more emotional. “It isn’t fair to Jules, at all. You can’t undo giving him life, John. He deserves penny for penny what Sean gets, or you’ll scar him for life.”  
  
 John didn’t respond. That sickening feeling of guilt was falling over him. He hated that feeling, and usually did everything in his power to chase it away, close it out of his mind. “I saw him when I was in England that time…” John said in a defensive voice.  
  
 “That was almost _three years ago_ , John. With kids, you have to make a sustained effort. You have to be there for them all the time, not just pop in once in a while and then pop out again.”  
  
 Silence.  
  
 Paul again: “So Jules wants to move to London and work on this band he is starting up.”  
  
 “A band?” John felt interest, and maybe a little bit of pride, perking up inside of him.  
  
 “I think you should buy him a flat, and give him an allowance while he is building his dream.”  
  
 “A flat. How much will that cost?”  
  
 “I’ve offered to take him flat hunting next week, so I’ll know how much it will cost after we find something.”  
  
 “That’s pretty generous with my money, Paul.” John felt shamed by his failure to handle the situation himself, and this was his push back.  
  
 “Well, I intended to buy it myself if you refused, so it’s really up to you whether you want to do it yourself.” Paul’s voice brooked no objections.  
  
 “No, he’s my son, I’ll pay for it. Let me know how much.”  
  


*****

  
 A week later, Julian turned up at Cavendish, and Linda welcomed him into her brood, stuffing him with food. Julian had never lived in a house with a lot of kids, so he was a bit taken aback by all the shouting and laughing and rough housing and squabbling that went on. The house practically shook at its rafters.  
  
 They found a neat little 3-story terraced house in Notting Hill that Julian flipped over. It was a bit pricey, but since Julian intended to have a roommate who would pay some rent, Paul thought it was doable. He knew he would come up with the down payment even if John didn’t, so he opened negotiations with the estate agents. He managed to get a fair reduction in the price, and signed the guarantee, explaining that Julian’s father would exchange that guarantee with his own, later.  
  
 Back in New York, John decided to skip discussing it with Yoko altogether. He called the accountant directly. Paul had sent him written bullet points on what he had to do, and he read the bullet points over the phone to the accountant. The accountant was actually cheered that John was taking an interest not only in his finances, but also his older son, so he responded to John’s instructions without consulting Yoko. After all, Yoko never consulted John when she wanted to spend, invest or divert money, so why should John have to consult Yoko?  
  


*****

  
 A few months later, after Julian had packed up and moved to London, buzzing with excitement and ill-disguised joy, Cynthia picked up the mail from the floor below the letter flap in the door, and carried it to the kitchen table, idly flipping through the envelopes. She came to one with a return address of No. 7 Cavendish in London. She was so grateful to Paul for getting John to do something for Julian, that her face melted into a fond smile as she traced her finger over Paul’s neat handwriting. She opened the envelope, and pulled out the letter. When she did so, a check fell out. It was a check for an unseemly amount of money, with Paul’s name on the account. Confused, she opened the letter, and a little business card fell out of it. It was the name and number of a prominent financial advisor from London. Cynthia read the letter next:  
  
 “I was furious with John back in ’68 when he treated you so badly in the divorce. We were still sort of mates then, and I couldn’t take a side against him, although I certainly gave him a piece of my mind about it on more than one occasion. By then, though, I had no influence over him – except _maybe_ he would do the exact opposite of what I asked him to do. Anyway, I should have stood up then. I should have done something then, when it would have counted most. So please allow me to make up for it now.  
  
 “I know you think I am not responsible, but that doesn’t make me feel any less so. Every penny I have made is based on the work I did with John, so I’ve always felt as though what was mine was his. Anyway, I want you to have this sum of money for investing. It will throw off a generous income if you handle it properly. I’ve spoken with one of my financial advisors – the one I use in London – and he has agreed to take on your account, should you choose to avail yourself of his services. I strongly advise that you do so. This will provide you with a very comfortable retirement, and you wouldn’t have to worry about money ever again. But it is _your money_ , and you can do with it what you will. I love you, and hope you will accept this gift from me, so that I can put my feelings of guilt on this subject behind me.”  
  
 Cynthia’s tears were coursing down her cheeks. She knew she had two tasks immediately before her: (1) a heartfelt thank you letter to Paul, and (2) a phone call to the financial advisor.

 

*****

 

 The third phone number belonged to John’s half-sister, Julia Baird. Julia wasn’t nearly as scary as Mimi, and she didn’t conjure up old feelings of guilt like Cyn and Julian did, so Paul was fairly light-hearted as he dialed Julia’s number.  
  
 Julia answered the phone herself. Some submerged part of his brain dredged up the memory of Julia’s voice. He had last spoken to her in the late ‘70s, when they’d run into each other in Liverpool.  
  
 “Hello Julia, this is Paul McCartney,” Paul said in a sprightly tone.  
  
 “Paul! To what do I owe this great honor?” Her voice was affectionate, but dry.  
  
 “Very funny, Julie. You forget I know all about the streak of cruelty that runs thru your family. I could write songs about it.”  
  
 “You already have, if I’m not mistaken.”  
  
 “Says you. Anyway, John asked me to check in on you and your sister to see how you’re doing.”  
  
 “I got some kind of letter to that effect a few weeks ago,” Julia said. “I have to admit I was surprised to read that he’d asked you to do this. I thought you weren’t talking to each other?”  
  
 “Yeah, well, eventually everyone has to grow up, even me and John.”  
  
 “It’s about time,” Julia commented.  
  
 “Ah, and I remember you as a sweet little girl…”  
  
 “I never was sweet. Jacqui was, but not me.”  
  
 “How is Jacqui, anyway? John says he hasn’t heard anything of her at all in years. Is she okay?”  
  
 Julia went quiet suddenly. She had to be circumspect. “Jacqui has been through a rough period for a few years. But she’s climbing out of it now.”  
  
 “I’m sorry to hear that. This was kind of what John was afraid of. That something was wrong. He wanted me to check in on you both…”  
  
 “Why can’t he do it himself?” Julia said gruffly.  
  
 “Yoko.” Paul’s answer was short and succinct. He could hear Julia’s resigned sigh on the other end. “Would you mind if I came to visit with you? Do you think Jacqui would join us? I’d like to chat with you both, myself, for old time’s sake.”  
  
 “Jacqui often visits me on Sundays. I’ll get back to you with a good day and time. That is, if His Highness is willing to share His royal telephone number with me.”  
  
 “We don’t usually share Our telephone number with the hoi polloi,” Paul responded in an overdone Royal English accent, “but in your case We will make an exception.”  
  
 Several days later, Paul was on a plane to Liverpool. He had a hired chauffeur drive him the 35 minutes to the south to the town of Chester, where Julia now lived.  
  
 Julia answered the door, and escorted him into the sitting room, where a very quiet woman with dark hair was sitting, a bit curled up on herself, in a lounge chair. Paul had already given his famous Macca hug to Julia, but he very gently approached Jacqui, and instead of hugging her, took both of her hands in his and squeezed them, while smiling “hello” into her shy eyes.  
  
 Julia brought in tea with ginger cookies, and then sat down on the sofa next to Paul.  
  
 “So, what’s this all about?” Julia asked with no further ado. Paul smiled at how like John she was.  
  
 “John is trying to sort out his relationships with his family, but you know him. He has to go through an intermediary.” Paul knew that only the sympathetic truth would appeal to this John-like woman. “And I’m the intermediary, because I know all of you.”  
  
 “Less impersonal? Is that it?”  
  
 “Not just that. He knows I actually care about the people he cares about.”  
  
 “Why is that, Paul? Why do you care so much about us?”  
  
 “I care about John, and so I care about who he cares about.” Paul hadn’t expected to get the third degree.  
  
 “John has a way of collecting people who want to take care of him, that’s for sure,” Julia remarked. “Okay, so what does he want to know?”  
  
 “How are you doing financially?” Paul knew that there was no point in beating around the bush with Julia. She would have no patience for softly worded approaches.  
  
 “We’re fine. I’ve got a job in Liverpool. I work publicity for the Cavern and other Beatle sites. Jacqui has her own flat, and she is working in a shop.”  
  
 “John feels as though he should have been more generous with his family members over the last several years. He has already settled things with your Aunt Mimi and with Julian. He’d like to help out the two of you in some way, if you would permit him to do so.”  
  
 Julia thought about this for a while and then said, “We’d rather see him and talk to him from time to time. That would mean more to us.”  
  
 “It’s baby steps, Julia. He can only do one thing at a time. It isn’t easy for him – admitting he was wrong. I believe that once he deals with his guilt over the money, he will be far more open to seeing you and talking to you.”  
  
 Julia listened to what Paul said, and reminded herself that Paul was an extremely intuitive man. “That makes total sense,” she said. “I can see how John would think that way. So, I dunno, what kind of arrangement did he make for Mimi?”  
  
 “He increased her allowance threefold.”  
  
 “Wow. And Julian?”  
  
 “He has purchased him a terrace house in Notting Hill, and sends him a cash allowance every month.”  
  
 “These were all your ideas, weren’t they,” Julia said, smiling knowingly.  
   
 “I did the research, I advised him what to do, and then he did it. It was his idea, he asked me to do it, and it will make him feel a lot better if you let him help you in some way. What do you need most? Your mortgage paid? A retirement fund? Spending money?” Paul turned to Jacqui, who was yet to speak. “Can he buy you your own flat, so you don’t have to pay rent?”  
  
 Julia and Jacqui exchanged a glance.  
  
 “I wouldn’t mind a retirement trust,” Julia admitted. “That would set me up perfectly. And I think buying Jacqui a flat and giving her a retirement trust too will be grand. No money though. We don’t want to take cash.”  
  
 Paul assumed this was about pride, and nodded. “Okay, these things are easily done. Jacqui, if you want to look around for a flat to buy, why don’t you send me the particulars when you’ve decided?”  
  
 Jacqui nodded, and then finally spoke. “Julia is being tactful. She may need money. But what she means is you can’t give me a chunk of cash, because I’ve only just given up a heroin habit.”  
  
 Paul was stunned into silence. So Julia got the Mimi Smith -like strength, and Jacqui got the Julia Stanley-like weaknesses. John had inherited both. “What about private therapy? Your own therapist?”  
  
 Jacqui’s eyes showed some enthusiasm for the idea, and Julia spoke for her, saying, “That would be a wonderful idea.”  
  
 “Okay, now that we got that sorted, let me take you two ladies out to dinner in Liddypool, and let’s eat everything expensive on the menu of the poshest restaurant!”  
  
 This plan was readily approved, and soon the chauffeur was driving the three of them into the City for dinner. Later, the driver took the two women back to Julia’s home, after dropping Paul at the airport.   
  
*****  
  
  
 “So how’d it go?” John asked Paul over the telephone line the next day.  
  
 “They could really use your help, but they’re very proud. Here’s what I finally got out of them. They both could use a retirement trust, and you could pay off Julia’s mortgage and buy Jacqui a little flat. In addition, you could pay Jacqui’s medical bills, and then send Julia some spending cash.”  
  
 “Sounds like a lot of money,” John said in a worried tone. “And what’s this about medical bills?”  
  
 “John, Jacqui is just getting over a years-long heroin addiction. She looked very weak and just barely functioning. I’m afraid she’ll slip back into it if she doesn’t get some truly expert help.”  
  
 John was hit hard by this news. “How much will it cost?”  
  
 “I’ve done some of the numbers. I won’t know for sure about the mortgage or the flat until I get those numbers, but I suggest you open a bank account in London and deposit £200,000 in it, and I’ll make sure everything gets done properly.”  
  
 John gulped. This was as much as he’d given Julian. Yoko was going to have a fit. But still…these were his little sisters - his mother Julia’s daughters.  
  
 John asked his accountant how to set up an account in London, in order to deposit £200,000 pounds. The accountant asked what this was for, and John explained about his sisters’ situation. The accountant said he would do so, and then send the details about the account to Mr. McCartney, per John’s instructions. “Paul has to have the power to withdraw funds,” John reminded him. “He is the one who will be doing all the deals.”  
  
*****  
  
 A few days later, Yoko came storming into John’s bedroom, as he sat strumming his guitar and daydreaming.  
  
 “John, you have spent almost £500,000 in three weeks! You have directed these funds to your family members without consulting me!”  
  
 John was looking at Yoko’s fury, but he wasn’t – for some reason – afraid. Maybe it was because his actions had been selfless, and long overdue. It had been the right thing to do, so he wouldn’t allow himself to be made to feel bad about it.  
  
 “When have you ever consulted _me_ about spending or investing money, Yoko?” John asked in an infuriatingly calm tone of voice.  
  
 “I have always been in control of the money. That is our deal!”  
  
 “Well, I don’t really remember making _that_ deal. I said you could handle the money, but I never said I was giving up all say in what we did with our money, now did I?” John was glaring at her. “I should have done this years ago! My Aunt, my son, and my sisters have been barely scraping by, while you and Sean have lived in luxury. It isn’t right, and I’ve taken steps to make it right!” John had raised his voice, and Yoko had even stepped backwards in surprise at the confident tone in John’s voice.  
  
 “This is all Paul’s doing!” Yoko shouted back. “He’s influencing you to push me out of your life!” Yoko’s fears came to the surface in that moment.  
  
 John was watching Yoko with a detached, objective expression on his face. He was seeing her insecurities and the ugliness the insecurities engendered seeping out around her like an acid green aura. “As I told you before, it was _my_ idea. I’ve been worried about my family for ages, and you kept telling me you would take care of it, and yet you never did take care of it, did you? So I asked Paul to look in on them and tell me what they needed, because he lives in England, but also because he knows and cares about them too. I knew I could trust Paul to tell me the truth, and also to give me sound advice on how best to help. So that’s what I’ve done.”  
  
 “This is far too much money, John! They don’t know how to handle it, and they’ll squander it.”  
  
 “Actually, it wasn’t much _money_ at all. I bought my son a flat in London, so he could live rent-free. I paid my sister Julia’s mortgage off, and set up a retirement trust for her. I bought a flat for Jacqui, and set up a retirement trust for her too. I am also paying Jacqui’s medical bills. The only cash they received was in modest lump sums or allowances. This money is a drop in the bucket to us, Yoko, and it means so much more to them than it ever could to us.”  
  
 Yoko was staring at John as though she didn’t know him. These words sounded more like they had come out of McCartney’s mouth, and, in fact, she knew instantly that they had. She was fuming with rage inside, but didn’t know how to leverage it at the moment, so she turned on her heel and stalked off.  
  
 John sat still for a while, contemplating what had just happened. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, he had just outwitted Yoko on financial matters! He laughed out loud. He knew he wasn’t going to be afraid of demanding what money he wanted from her in the future. Feeling pleased with himself, he turned back to his guitar, and started playing chords. Eventually, he needed to get his head back into this composing thing, because he knew he would have to give Paul what he needed and wanted soon.  
  
*****  
  
  
  Some time later, back in England, Paul was sitting back on a sofa to read a letter from Julia Baird.  
  
 “Dear Paul, I never would have believed it, but John actually came through for us. I never would have thought to ask for those things, but just those few things have made an enormous positive change in our lives. Jacqui, especially, is finally getting the help and care she has needed for years, and she seems much stronger as a result. And I can’t tell you what a relief it is not to have to make a mortgage payment each month, or to worry about retirement. Still, my fondest wish is that Jacqui and I can talk to John soon, or maybe even get a visit from him sometime. We’d even go to New York to see him, if he’d have us. Do you think you can work your magic with him for us? Thanks so much for all you’ve done to make this happen. Love, Julia.”  
  
 Paul felt a bit like Santa Claus. He was kind of disappointed he had run out of John-relatives to visit. Paul knew that John had a half-sister out there that he had never found, a girl who had been born out of wedlock during the War while John’s dad was in service. He also knew that Freddy Lennon had a second family in New Zealand – two boys – but John had never bothered with his father or his father’s family. Those were areas where Paul would not go. John’s wounds were too deep there for Paul to even broach the subject with him. Maybe some day John would find the strength within himself to finally address those particular ouch buttons, and if he did, Paul would be more than happy to play the part of Santa Claus again if necessary. The role was beginning to grow on him.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come On-A My House, My House-A Come On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is vacation time for the McCartney family...

 The McCartneys were planning a family vacation of four weeks’ duration for the summer of 1983. Linda had done her research and found the perfect villa to rent in the Costa Smeralda region on the North Coast of Sardinia, high in the hills above a private cove, invisible to the main roads, with a stunning view of Liscia de Vacca bay; one could see Corsica from its patios on a clear day! She had been studying up on the local ingredients and cuisine, and was eager to experiment with new vegetarian recipes. Paul was going to spend the month with them and then, upon their return to London he would leave to spend two weeks in New York with John.  
  
 The “6 weeks on / 2 weeks off” schedule had started to feel almost like a routine after the second cycle. Paul appeared to be calming down – he didn’t spend the week before and the week after his trips being anxious and unsettled any longer.  
  
 Paul, however, was still frustrated with his creative life. The last time he had been with John, Paul had brought up the subject of his making music with Michael Jackson, much to John’s ill-disguised disdain. Paul had suggested to John that maybe the two of them could try to work together again instead – seeing as how they were both struggling at the moment - but John dismissed the idea, saying it would be a bad mistake. He didn’t appear to realize how badly this had hurt Paul, but then Paul _was_ a champ at hiding his true feelings behind a cheerful mask. The Michael Jackson idea died a quiet death.  
  
 It remained for Paul to tell John where he would be for four weeks. He was loath to do so, because lately John had been showing signs of resentment that Linda got the lion’s share of Paul’s time. He had taken to calling Paul on his cell phone almost every day. Paul enjoyed talking to John on a daily basis, and this wasn’t a problem, but Paul sensed a growing restiveness in John. Consequently, he had put off telling John about the family vacation until a few days before the flight. Finally, he gave himself some alcoholic courage, and dialed John’s new cell phone.  
  
 “What’s up?” John said as he answered. John was pleasantly surprised that Paul had called him. It was almost always the other way around.  
  
 “Hey mate,” Paul chirped. “I’m just calling to give you a heads up about my plans.”  
  
 “Plans? What plans?” John’s voice was alert and anxious.  
  
 “Just the family vacation. We’re going to Sardinia this year.” Paul’s voice remained upbeat.  
  
 “Sardinia? Isn’t that in Italy?”  
  
 “Yeah, we’ve rented a villa for the whole month of June.”  
  
 “You’re supposed to be here the last two weeks of June, Paul.” John was finding it difficult to contain the fear running through his veins. “What about your birthday?”  
  
 Damn! Paul had forgotten that! “It comes every year whether I want it or not,” Paul chuckled, willfully pretending that this wasn’t going to be a sore spot with John.  
  
 “So you’ll be surrounded by your family in a villa by the ocean…” John said, honestly trying not to sound envious (and failing).  
  
 Paul’s heart fell. He tried cheerfulness again. “I’m surrounded by my family _wherever_ we go! There’s dozens of them!” Paul chuckled again and heard no reciprocal laughter from the other end. “John? Are you all right?”  
  
 John made an effort. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just disappointed. I thought you’d be here in two weeks. I thought we’d be celebrating your birthday together. I’m gonna miss you. Will your phone work there?”  
  
 Paul had been dreading that question, and indeed, this was the main reason he had been putting off telling John about this trip in the first place. “There isn’t any phone service there, it’s quite remote. Linda wanted to get _right_ away from it all.”  
  
 “Including from me, apparently.”  
  
 “No, John, no! It’s what we’ve always done. Choose some place rustic, off the beaten path. We put civilization behind us for awhile.”  
  
 John couldn’t remember the last time he’d put civilization behind him. The sailing trip in the summer of ’80 – that was the last time. Three years ago. Yoko didn’t like to be ‘off the beaten path’ so she hadn’t gone with. He heaved a great sigh.  
  
 “So when will I see you again?” John asked wearily. Paul could tell that his friend was depressed.  
  
 “Right after we get back from Italy, I’ll leave for New York.”  
  
 “Okay, then…” John’s voice sounded far away and despondent.  
  
 “John, it’s only a few weeks longer than you expected, and the only real difference is the phone calls.” Paul’s voice was loving and gentle.  
  
 “I know,” John said in a resigned voice. “It’s just that it’s the phone calls that keep me together.” John felt tears welling up in his throat, and he desperately didn’t want to start sobbing on the phone, so he quickly excused himself. “Gotta go, Paul,” he said.  
  
  _A-oh_ , Paul thought, ‘ _Paul._ ’ John had about a thousand nicknames for Paul, and rarely did he call him by his name when they were alone, except when he was angry, or sometimes when John was dominating him during sex. “John, the time will go fast. You’ll be fine.” Paul could tell John was fading. “So…I love you. Take care of yourself until I get back. I’ll miss you terribly…” Paul let it hang out there.  
  
 After a long moment, John said, ‘Yeah, miss you too. Have a happy birthday.” And he hung up.  
  
 Paul was shaken by the utter despair in John’s voice. He hadn’t wanted to believe it – that the old ‘bottomless pit’ thing would start again. Paul had very nearly been sucked into that dark hole in 1968. He had barely escaped. Was it still true? Would nothing ever be enough for John? Paul knew John had been going to therapy. He hoped it would help John, but he had serious doubts that John would ever unburden himself sufficiently to be helped. Of course, Paul was like that too, he knew. He was in no position to judge John, seeing as how he’d never had the courage to even _start_ therapy.  
  
 It was a dispirited Paul who found his way to Linda’s kitchen. She was sitting at the table with her feet on a chair, dogs at the floor beneath her, laughing and talking with her three animated daughters. It seemed to Paul as though a halo of light and happiness was all around her. She was a sight for sore eyes. Paul began to cheer up. He couldn’t help it; Linda was a warm life force, and she strengthened and uplifted everyone lucky enough to be around her.  
  
 Later, after the kids had gone to bed, Paul and Linda sat snuggled up in the living room, just _being_ with each other. Linda, who was psychic apparently, asked, “Paul, something is bothering you. Is it John?”  
  
 Paul sighed. “Yes. He’s very depressed. I told him about our trip.” Paul sighed again. “He has been calling me every day now.”  
  
 “I know,” Linda said softly. No judgment, just a fact.  
  
 “He’s very unhappy in his life. He needs to leave Yoko, leave New York, and move back home to England. But he won’t do it because he is afraid to be alone.” Paul’s voice was dripping with unintended agony. Linda felt the pain, because that was Linda. She couldn’t help but feel for anyone or anything in pain.  
  
 Linda comforted Paul the best way she knew how, with gentle kisses and caresses, and then later – in the dark of their bedroom – with passionate embraces and sex. When Paul was sound asleep, his beautiful dark head lying against her breast, cradled in Linda’s elegant long fingers, Linda lay awake, thinking.   
  


*****

  
 The villa in Sardinia was wonderful. Slightly run down, and nestled in the hills, with a panoramic view, framed by tall scrub trees and rocky hills. There was a large airy kitchen, and all the windows were open and insects and birds were flitting in and around the large kitchen window all the time. This didn’t bother Linda at all. It actually made Linda very happy.  
  
 After a few days, the family had fallen into a very comfortable pattern. One or the other or both parents would take the kids down to the beach in the rented jeep in the morning after breakfast, and then drive them back for lunch. There would be a quiet afternoon, while the kids played in the house or on the patio, and the parents read, or (in Paul’s case) sat on a balcony strumming a guitar. In the late afternoon, the family moved down to the pool and then, in the late evening they had dinner and entertained each other in the large family room. No television, no radio, no telephones, just human beings joyously interacting.  
  
 It was the morning of June 17th, and the kids were just finishing their breakfast. “Paul, please take the kids to the beach today. I need to do some shopping down in the town.” Paul didn’t look up from the book he was reading, but nodded agreeably. A few moments later and he was rounding up the kids, helping 5 year-old James find his sandals, and herding them all towards the jeep. Linda watched it all with affectionate amusement. She shook her head, and finished writing out the items on her list that she needed to get in the town.  
  
 The sand on the beach was warm – not hot – to the touch, and the water was cool – not cold. Paul insisted that everyone slather on the sunscreen, except failed to do it for himself. He’d already gotten his sunburn, and now he was starting to tan. He propped up his beach chair, and pulled out a sketchpad, and began to sketch for fun. He wasn’t going to put any real artists out of business, but it was fun to do and resulted in a reasonably recognizable sketch of his kids playing in the surf.  
  
 After a half hour or so, Paul felt sleep tugging at the sides of his eyes, and worries about John were starting to haunt him. He had to stay awake and focused to watch the kids, so he forced himself to stand up, and then trotted down to the water. He kicked water on 11 year-old Stella and she screeched to high heaven and soon there was a splash war going on between Paul, and three of his kids. Heather, a 19-year-old now, sat on the beach reading a romance novel and rolling her eyes at her embarrassingly goofy father.   
  
 It got to be lunchtime, and Paul and the kids gathered up their bits and pieces and loaded on to the jeep. It was a very short (less than a mile) ride up a steep, winding road to the villa, and soon Paul was unloading the jeep and unsuccessfully trying to get the kids to take their stuff with them in to the house. He finally shrugged, and grabbed an armload of gear, and headed for the gate to the patio.  
  
 As he walked through the gate he heard a familiar laugh. No…it couldn’t be. He was hallucinating. Paul followed the pathway around to the patio, and there – big as life – was John Lennon, seated on the patio having what looked like a friendly chat with Linda! Sean was seated on the short rock wall that bordered the patio. James was standing, shyly, in front of Sean, making flirtatious little waves in Sean’s direction. And – yes – standing up shyly from a patio lounger was Julian!  
  
 Paul was so surprised he dropped the armful of wet and sandy towels and his face lit up with joy. “John!” He rushed over, completely forgetting that Linda and the kids were there, and threw his arms around John. John, who had jumped up as Paul approached, laughed as he was grasped and squeezed.   
  
 “Happy birthday, Pud,” he whispered in Paul’s ear. “I’m Linda’s present to you.” Paul pulled away and stared at John, and then turned to see Linda – sitting there, smiling – with wonder in his eyes. He then went and hugged her just as tightly as he had hugged John, and then kissed her smack on her lips. She was giggling.  
  
 Paul beckoned Julian over, and gave him a huge hug, too. Julian whispered, “Happy birthday Uncle Pup!” Paul snorted and said out loud, “Make sure no one hears you say that! My kids will never let me hear the end of it.”  
  
 He then turned around to face Linda and John. “How… what…when?” Paul was looking back and forth between John and Linda, not believing what he was seeing. Sean came up and tapped Paul’s arm, and Paul leaned down and gave Sean a huge hug, which Sean hadn’t expected, but certainly appreciated.  
  
 Linda laughed and headed into the house. “Come on James – and you too, Sean – you need to get cleaned up and I’m going to make dinner.” The girls had already left the patio for their rooms, encouraging Julian to go with them, but James and a slightly reluctant Sean followed Linda into the house.  
  
 Paul was still standing, but John had taken his seat. Paul turned away from Linda and looked in John’s direction, pole-axed. John chuckled and said,  
   
 “Paul, sit down before you fall down.”  
  
 Paul sat down in the chair recently vacated by Linda. John sat back with a big sloppy smile.  
  
 “So – you’re curious?”  
  
 “Well, _yeah_ ,” Paul said, snuffling.  
  
 “So, the day after _you_ called me, Linda called me on my cell phone.”  
  
 “How did she…”  
  
 “You’re an idiot. She obviously looked on your phone bill.”  
  
 “Oh.”  
  
 “She told me she wanted to surprise you for your birthday, so would I come join the family for two weeks starting on the 17th? I asked, ‘would that be weird?’ And she said, ‘probably, but we can just pretend otherwise.’” John laughed. “I hate to admit this – I’m choking on the fuckin’ words – but I like that woman, Paul.”  
  
 Paul smiled proudly, but then said, “She actually invited you to join us?” Paul knew that this had to have happened, but he was still having a hard time believing it.  
  
 John said, “Yeah, and then she suggested I bring Yoko and Sean. She asked me if she minded if she invited Julian, too.”  
  
 Paul’s eyes popped out of his head. “ _What_? _Yoko_?”  
  
 “My reaction exactly. I didn’t pass the invitation on to Yoko. She wouldn’t have seen it as a friendly gesture. I told Yoko I was going to take Sean with me to Sardinia to stay with a friend for two weeks.”  
  
 “And Yoko said…?”  
  
 “She yelled ‘ _Paul! You’re going to be with Paul_!’” John had given a passable imitation of an angry Yoko Ono, and Paul had to swallow a laugh.  
  
 “She didn’t stop you?”  
  
 “Well, she had cut off my credit card as you know…”  
  
 “So how did you…?”  
  
 “Linda had her brother, the evil John Eastman, call me, and he bought the tickets for me and even drove us to the airport.”  
  
 “No!” Paul yelped, laughing out loud. He thought that was just hilarious. The only person John Lennon hated more than John Eastman was the father, Lee Eastman.  
  
 “Strange bedfellows…” John mumbled, and then leered at Paul comically.  
  
 That made Paul’s face freeze and then fold into itself.  
  
 “I know,” John said softly, watching the expressions flit one after the other across Paul’s face. “Awkward, isn’t it.” It wasn’t offered as a question; it was rhetorical. Paul nodded silently.  
  
 “Not with our kids here, John, I can’t.”  
  
 “I figured as much. But Linda pointed out that there is a little one bedroom guesthouse on this property – can’t see it from here. Just a short walk. It’s nice. That’s where I’ll be staying at night.”  
  
 “ _Linda_ pointed it out to you?” Paul had not yet reached the point where he couldn’t be surprised by his wife.  
  
 “She suggested I might be more comfortable there, ‘without’, I think she said, ‘all the kids running in and out’.”  
  
 Paul was stunned. In a happy way. But it was weird, too. Linda stood in the doorway and called, “Dinner’s ready you two!” Paul looked instantly to John, who was grinning.  
  
 “This is really entertaining,” John said as he got up and held his hand out, an offer to help Paul get to his feet. As they walked to the doorway, John gave Paul’s bum a few little discreet pats.   
  
  
*****

  
 That night, after the kids were asleep or otherwise occupied in their rooms, John, Paul and Linda sat around on the patio, smoking joints and relaxing. Normally, Linda would have sat so close to Paul that there would be no space between them. So would have John. This night, she took a neutral chair, and so did John, and so did Paul. So there they sat in the dark night, by candlelight: three separate chairs in a circle, filled with three individuals gradually becoming more stoned. John was the first one to speak.  
  
 “I’m surprised that Sean wanted to sleep with James,” John said lazily. “I thought he would insist on being with me.”  
  
 “He liked the idea of sleeping on the top bunk,” Linda replied, after inhaling a strong hit.  
  
 Silence fell again. Again John:  
  
 “I really liked what you made for dinner, Linda. What was it called?”  
  
 “Polenta, with grilled eggplant, artichokes, and sundried tomatoes.” Another puff.  
  
 Silence fell again. This time Paul, looking vaguely into the sky:  
  
 “Is that the Big Dipper?”  
  
 First, silence. And then John and Linda were giggling.  
  
 Paul, turning to look at the other two: “What?” He didn’t understand what was so funny.  
  
 “If you have to ask…” John said in between giggles. This made Linda giggle more.  
  
 Silence reigned for two or three minutes. Then, John spoke,  
  
 “I wouldn’t mind staying here forever. Right on this fuckin’ patio, looking at …”- John waited a dramatic moment, and then he waved in Paul’s general direction - “…the Big Dipper.” Linda made that sound one makes when one’s trying not to laugh but it bursts out of one’s mouth anyway, and then she was reduced to another fit of giggles. John’s accompanying lower giggles were in perfect harmony. Paul tried to maintain a hurt silence, but pretty soon he was giggling too. He had no fucking idea why.  
  
 “Let’s just stay here. All of us. And never leave.” John again. This time Linda didn’t giggle. Even through a haze of pot her empathy was working, and she eyed John’s wistful face. Paul was also staring at John’s face.  
  
 “That would be lovely,” Linda finally said gently. And then, in a raucous voice she added, “Too bad we have to ed-gy-cate them thar kids.” She started giggling again.  
  
 John and Paul started giggling along with Linda. “Yeah,” Paul said, “but education is highly over- over- what’s that word? Oh yeah – rated. Highly over-rated.”  
  
 John, in between giggles said, “You and I proved that to the whole fuckin’ world, didn’t we Paulie?”  
  
 “We sure did, ” Paul responded softly. He then changed the subject abruptly. “Lin, this is some really intense shit.”  
  
 “Yeah, and the _pot i_ s pretty intense, too,” John joked. They all giggled again.  
  
 Things went quiet again, as the three of them cherished private wobbly thoughts for a few minutes.  
  
 Linda was the first to stir, smashing the tiny bit of her joint in the ashtray. She said, “My roach is dead.” She got up and said, “I’m going to bed.” She then spoiled the effect by giggling at the accidental rhyme.  
  
 Paul made to get up, but Linda said, “I packed a few of your things in a small case, and you’ll find it in the guesthouse, Paul.” She leaned over and gave Paul a loving kiss, and then walked over and leaned down and gave John an identical kiss.  
  
 “Have fun boys!” She swished her ass deliciously as she sashayed back into the house, kicking her leg up and throwing her head back just before she disappeared into the kitchen. The door slammed firmly behind her.  
  
 John and Paul sat in stoned silence, staring at the closed kitchen door.  
  
 “Wow.” That was all John could think of to say.  
  
 Paul turned his head to look at John who was staring at him with a silly grin on his face. “I’m not sure I can even get up, John,” he said very seriously.  
  
 “You can lean on me and I can lean on you…” John started, and Paul finished by singing,  
  
 “ _And I’ll get to Scotland a fore you_!”  
  
 Giggling, John pushed himself up with herculean effort, and wavered a bit on his feet. He knew the first step was the hardest one, but once he got the momentum going, if he didn’t look down, he’d be fine. He lurched over to Paul’s chair, and grabbed Paul’s wrists, dragging him up from the chair. Paul went obediently, throwing his arm around John’s shoulders, and John had Paul around the waist.  
  
 “How far did you say this place is?” Paul asked in a worried tone as John led him around the side of the house, on to a little stone path, and up a small rise.  
  
 John grunted put did not respond. He needed to focus all of his attention on walking a relatively straight line, and keeping them both on their feet.  
  
 The little stone cottage was finally before them, the old wooden door open, and gaslight gleaming in the living area. As they stumbled into the cottage’s sole bedroom, they both noticed at once that the bed had been turned down, and everything looked lovely, even a sprightly bouquet of wildflowers was in a jar by the window.  
  
 “She thinks of everything,” John said dumbly, and Paul nodded in solemn agreement.  
  
 Paul then wandered off to the bathroom, and spent an infuriating few moments trying to brush his teeth. By then, finally, the high was starting to wear off a little, and he was able to stare at himself in the mirror and see reality for a moment. Was this really him, ready to hop into bed with John, with his wife and their children just down the path? Admittedly, they were all asleep or otherwise privately occupied, and couldn’t even see the cottage from where they were, so it really wasn’t any different than if he had been in New York, but still! He’d been there quite a while, staring at himself in the mirror, but didn’t realize it.  
  
 John impatiently barged into the bathroom, stark naked, heading directly for the toilet. “ _Hog,_ ” he said to Paul, and immediately started a mammoth pee. Disgusted, Paul left and went back into the bedroom. He saw John’s discarded clothes all over the place, and he picked them up, and placed them neatly on a chair. Like a man in a dream, he started to pull his clothing off, and he climbed in to the huge feather bed, pulling a sheet over him, and frowning as he rolled smack into the middle of the bed. He knew there was a reason why he hated feather beds. But he had to get out of this foul mood. This was his birthday present after all. Linda’s birthday present to him. As he had this thought the pot kicked in again for a few more moments, and he began to giggle helplessly _. I have to fuck John because Linda gave him to me for my birthday_! It was hilarious, outrageous, and completely unacceptable in every single way.  
  
 Just then John came bursting out of the bedroom and made a flying leap for the bed, and landed pretty much on top of Paul.  
  
 “There’s too much give in this mattress, Paul, we’re just going to have to suck it up and spend the night on top of each other.”  
  
 “Works for me,” John heard Paul say from underneath him, amongst a flurry of giggles. Somehow John managed to get on one side of Paul, but as soon as he accomplished this they were kind of forced on to their sides, and were facing each other. The room was dark, and the sheets were silken and cool, and as their eyes adjusted they began to see the outlines of each other’s faces.  
  
 “Happy birthday, Pud,” John said with a wicked smile, and a moment later his mouth was devouring Paul’s. Paul laid back and let it happen. The pot let him do this. It let him shut off his over active mind, and just _be._ John moved back on top of Paul, but this time he was kissing and biting at Paul’s nipples, and then, as Paul groaned with the sensation, John followed the hair trail that he loved so much down Paul’s chest, past his abdomen, to the pelvic area, where he dawdled around Paul’s belly button for a few moments, and then continued on down to the Magic Triangle. The world’s best blowjob is what Macca deserved for his birthday. And that was exactly what he was gonna get!  
  


*****

  
  
 The next morning, John slipped out of their bed first, his stomach growling, and he followed the wonderful smell out the front door of the cottage, down the path, around the villa, and in through the kitchen door. Linda was wearing a simple shirtdress in green, yellow and white, and she was standing at the grill top, doing amazing things with eggs and fresh vegetables. Sitting at the kitchen table was Paul’s middle daughter, the one who looked like his clone – Mary. Her almost black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her huge, luminescent greenish brown eyes seemed lit from within. There was a smattering of adorable freckles all over her sun-burnt face. She was busy cutting biscuit shapes out of some dough. When she caught sight of John, her face burst out into a Macca smile, and John’s heart melted. He was such a sucker for that smile.  
  
 “Uncle John!” she chirped. “Did you sleep well?”  
  
 Linda stopped her chopping for a moment but then started up again. John tried to tamp down the blush he felt was creeping into his cheeks. He smiled, and, as he sat down at the table, said, “Yes. The air is so fresh up here!”   
  
 “Daddy’s still in bed,” Mary said, naturally thinking that John would be curious about his friend.  
   
 “Ummm,” John said, “so what’cha making there?” It was a stupid question, because it was obvious, but it was an easy way to change the course of the conversation. “Biscuits,” Mary answered absent-mindedly, as she got up and took her pans of biscuits over to the bread oven. Suddenly a cup of coffee was pushed in front of John. He looked up and met Linda’s eyes. She smiled back at him, and then, leaning closer she whispered,  
  
 “You’d better go warn Paul not to come in through the kitchen. There’s a French door to the master suite on the side by the garden…”  
  
 John nodded, and taking the cup she had poured for him, and another one he hastily poured for Paul, he disappeared up the stone path to the cottage, and loudly placed the coffee cup down on Paul’s bedside table.  
  
 “Wake up sleepyhead,” John whispered in Paul’s ear, and then he nibbled that ear. Paul’s eyes flew open, saw John, and in that moment John knew what it was to be loved. The expression in Paul’s eyes on seeing him filled him with an amazing sense of peace and goodwill.  
  
 Paul tried to sit up, but the ridiculous feather mattress defeated him. “Help!” He cried out comically, reaching his arm out to John. John pulled him up a bit, but then Paul had a hard time getting his legs down on the ground, so John pulled him all the way up. “That bed is gonna swallow me whole one of these nights. I swear it will.” Paul grumbled.  
  
 “If I don’t first,” John joked. “I brought you some coffee,” he added.  
  
 “Ta.”  
  
 “Linda sent me back up here to warn you to go in and out of the house through the French doors in the master bedroom when you’re with me, so the kids don’t know when you’re kipping here.” John said this as Paul plopped down on the sofa in the living area, and crossed his legs.  
  
 “Oh, yeah, that’s a good point,” Paul said. “I never would have thought of that.”  
  
 “You’d never make it as a private eye, Paul. You’re hopeless at this sneaking around shit.”  
  
 Paul grimaced. “Don’t I know it. Jane was always catching me out. It was always something stupid, like someone else’s perfume on the pillow, or maybe I’d scribble a girl’s phone number on a piece of paper, and then forget about it, and leave it there right on the counter for Jane to find. I was never really cut out to be a playboy,” Paul said.  
  
 “You just played one on TV,” John joked.   
  


*****

  
 It was Paul’s birthday, and Linda had bought a marzipan cake and a spumoni at the local market, and she made fresh-made spaghetti with big chucks of zucchini, summer squash and tomatoes in the sauce for dinner. They all squeezed around the big kitchen table, sitting on a potpourri of chairs – the six McCartneys and the three Lennons – joking, and eating, singing ‘happy birthday’, and laughing uproariously over the candles that wouldn’t blow out (courtesy of John’s visit to a New York joke store), and first the teenagers and then the children slipped away to their various pursuits and the grown ups were still sitting around the table, drinking local chianti. It was rough enough to burn out your pipes, but after the third or fourth glass it didn’t bother you so much.  
  
 John knew it was his turn to gallantly leave the stage, although he longed to stay longer in the kitchen surrounded by the warmth shed by Paul and Linda. Their love was so obvious, so strong and uncomplicated. They were sure of each other, and John envied this. He had never been sure of anything ever in his whole life. Finally, he could justify lingering no longer, and he got up. He held the last sip of his chianti up in a salute, and Linda and Paul scrambled to hold theirs up too.  
  
 “To Paul!” John said, and quaffed the rest of the drink.  
  
 Linda had echoed “To Paul”, and drank hers.  
  
 Paul’s eyes sort of misted over, and he nodded to accept the acknowledgement, and then finished his glass off too.  
  
 John gave Linda a warm hug, and thanked her quietly for everything, and then he went over to Paul who had stood up to say goodbye. He gathered Paul in his arms, and hung on for several moments, and whispered, “I love you” in Paul’s ear, as he pulled away. He then walked straight out of the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him, and made his way back to the cottage with a heavy heart.  
  
 After the kitchen door closed, Linda said, “He’s so sad.”  
  
 Paul nodded. “He really hates to be alone. I mean physically. I think it scares him. It is a wrench every time I leave him, because I see in his eyes…”  
  
 “…the longing…” Linda finished.  
  
 “Yes.” Paul’s response was a mere whisper. But then he brushed away the mood, stood up, and said with a wicked gleam in his eye, “Come on little Mama, let’s go to bed.”   
  


***** 

  
 The days went by in a pleasant sameness, the only real differences being which kids went to the beach each day, and which adult or adults took them, and then – of course – who Paul slept with at night. John and Linda had come to an unspoken agreement – they took turns: one night on, and one night off. This didn’t seem to bother _them_ half as much as it bothered Paul.  He found that he needed to get very high in order to sneak off to John’s cottage at night. It was the proximity of the children, and it wore on him. He hated lying to them. It was one thing to say ‘I’m going off on business’, and then disappear for 2 weeks. It was another thing entirely to slink off into a man’s bed right under their collective noses.  
   
 John was not ignorant of Paul’s concerns. This is why he insisted on a sub position the whole time he was there. No doubt it would be easier for Paul to deal with it if he could be the master of both bedrooms.  
  
 One morning, Paul volunteered to take all the kids down to the beach. Heather moaned and said she wanted to stay in her room. She was missing her boyfriend and behaving like a pill. Julian wanted to go so he could hang out more with Paul. Mary and Stella were willing to go, but they wanted their dad to take them to the market town afterwards so they could poke around. Paul was amenable. He turned to the two little boys, and James jumped up ready to go. But Sean, who had been seated next to Linda all morning, was reluctant to leave.  
  
 “What’s up Sean?” Paul asked gently, noticing Sean’s reluctance.  
  
 Sean looked at Linda longingly. She saw his expression, and smiled her sunny smile. “I’ll still be here when you get back. I’m not going anywhere.” Sean nodded, and then got up to head for the beach.  
  
 John had noted over the last few days Sean’s increased dependence upon Linda. He didn’t know that at nighttime, when John was back in his cottage, Linda was tucking Sean in, and he detained her there, talking to her about his day. After the jeep had zoomed out of ear contact, John turned to Linda.  
  
 “He’s got a crush on you, I think,” John said gently.  
  
 Linda giggled. “I know. It’s cute.”  
  
 “You’re good with him, he’s not used to it.”  
  
 “Used to what?” Linda asked.  
  
 “Being mothered,” John said. And then he caught himself. “Well, of course, he has a mother, and a nanny, and they love him and he loves them, and…”  
  
 “I know,” Linda smiled. “I’m a different _kind_ of mother. It’s new and interesting to him. But nothing takes the place of his real mother.”  
  
 John took a sip of Linda’s incredible coffee, and then decided to talk about “It”.  
  
 “About me and Paul…” John stopped, unsure of where to go from there.  
  
 “Yes?”  
  
 “How can you be so… _cool_ about it?” John’s eyes met Linda’s and Linda could see true confusion there.  
  
 “I haven’t always been, but I am now.”  
  
 “How?”  
  
 “I guess it’s because I know you can’t really own people. Heck, you can’t even own _things_.”  
  
 John’s eyebrow twitched in surprise at that comment.  
  
 “When you die, the things are still there, and they’re gonna belong to someone else,” Linda explained. “And people – you only ever get to _share a part_ of any other person, you know. And you never get to _own_ any part of him.”  
  
 This sounded like strange heresy to John, who held on to his possessions _and_ his people with a death grip.  
  
 Linda tried again. “I only want to be with Paul if he wants to be with me. If he didn’t want to be with me, it would crack but not break my heart; I’d survive. I’d even find a way to love again. If he’d rather be with someone else, then I’d rather he be there, too.”  
  
 “Paul said something like that to me, once. When we were much younger. It was about you.”  
  
 “What did he say?” Linda was alive with curiosity.  
  
 “Everyone was gossiping about who you might have slept with before you were with him. I’m sorry, but they were…”  
  
 Linda chuckled. “No kidding.”  
  
 “So I asked him why he wasn’t jealous of these other men, and he said he’d been with plenty of women too, and it only mattered to him whether you wanted to be with him _now_.” John was remembering the actual conversation. The cafeteria at EMI Studios, mid-afternoon.  
  
 John allowed the quiet to surround them for several minutes, and he noticed that Linda was content to lean back in her chair, close her eyes, and wait.  
  
 “I’ve loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him.” John confessed, not looking up from his coffee cup.  
  
 Linda let the words settle. And then she said, “So have I.”  
  
 Their eyes met and they gave each other confused smiles. Linda finally said, “We’ll have to be satisfied with sharing him. I think that’s the best either of us can do. But did you ever think” –  
  
 “Think what?”  
  
 “Did you ever think you might want to come live with us in Sussex?”

 

*****

 

 “She asked you _what_?” Paul was wrapped in John’s arms, and they were stuck together in the center of the feather bed. Because the mattress was so pathetic, they had no choice, but it didn’t seem to bother them anymore.  
  
 “She asked me if I ever thought about coming to live with you in Sussex.”  
  
 “I can’t believe it! What did you say?”  
  
 “I asked her if she was serious, or if that was some kind of a joke.”  
  
 “And?” Paul’s smile had frozen, and now he was concerned.  
  
 “And then she said she was dead serious, and she was worried about me, and thought maybe I could be happier if I lived with you…and your family…for awhile.”  
  
 Paul was silently taking this in. Linda hadn’t mentioned any of this to him, but then they hadn’t been alone together since he’d gotten back from the marketplace with the kids. His brain had a hard time wrapping his mind around it.  
  
 “And you said?” Paul’s voice was very soft.  
  
 “I said I would be afraid I’d be a huge burden on your family, and that it would be extremely awkward for everyone.”  
  
 Paul remained silent and waited.  
  
 “And then I said I would like to try it very much.”  
  
 Now it was John’s turn to wait for Paul’s reaction.  
  
 “And what did Linda say?” Paul finally asked, carefully.  
  
 “She said it was up to you. She was quite open to the idea, but it would be you who would make the final decision.”  
  
 Silence engulfed them.  
  
 “What about Yoko, and Sean?” Paul asked.  
  
 “It would be a trial separation from Yoko, and I guess that means we’d have to work out custody issues.”  
  
 Paul was dubious. He wanted to go for it. He wanted to believe it could all happen. But he didn’t feel John was up to making such a drastic decision.  
  
 “That’s a pretty big decision to make in a hurry,” Paul said.  
  
 John was tired of the subject. His hand slipped down from Paul’s waist to his hip, and he moved in and nuzzled Paul’s cheek. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” he whispered in Paul’s ear, and then he felt Paul’s arm tightening around his back and now they were kissing.  
  


*****

  
  
 John and Paul took four of the kids to the beach the next morning; Linda had gone into town to shop, and Julian and Heather were going to nose about the town while she did so.   
  
 As the beach crew laid out towels and beach chairs on the sand, John noticed that Stella, the redhead with the Paul-like eyes, was staring at him in the same unsettling way that Paul sometimes did. He turned to stare back at her with a question in his eyes. She smiled, and turned away, moving towards the shore. John wondered what _that_ was all about, but shrugged and made himself comfortable in his beach chair.  
  
 On the shore, Paul was throwing a frisbee with his girls, and the boys were begging to try it. Paul showed them how to do it, first one boy and then the other, but their efforts weren’t very successful. John watched Paul’s effortless interactions with the children, and the uncomplicated joy he exuded. He’d never met anyone else who could light up a group of people with unadulterated joy like Paul could. It was a very special gift, and Paul himself was hardly aware of it. It just came naturally to him. After about 30 minutes of this, and a quick swim in the ocean, Paul came charging up the sand and flopped down on his towel, sending sprays of water and sand all over John.  
  
 “You’re a fuckin’ sheepdog,” John groused, as he wiped off his book and his lap. Paul made barking sounds, and even panted a little just to annoy John, and then grabbed for a soda from the cooler.  
  
 “Want one?” Paul asked, shading his eyes with his hand so he could see John with the sun shining behind him. John took the soda, and then Paul laid out on the towel, crossing his long, slender, tanned legs. His arms and hands were crossed behind his head, and a pair of sunglasses covered his eyes. He wore tight black swim trunks. He was gloriously golden and looked about as content as a human being could possibly be. John felt strong affection warring with sexual attraction as he spent a few more moments feasting his eyes on the whole Paul Package.  
  
 The sun was blocked for a moment, and John looked up to see Stella standing directly in front of him, a few feet away, again staring at him. John gestured to the empty chair next to him with a question in his eyes, and she cautiously stepped forward and took the chair. She was unnerving. She was a bit of a wild child – her red hair all curly and flying in the breeze, and her skin so freckled and sunburnt. She had a defiant expression on her face, which John admired, even if it freaked him out a bit.  
  
 “What?” John asked her, when she was finally settled.  
  
 “What _what?_ ” She snapped back.  
  
 “You’re staring at me. Why?” John stared back at her, just as shamelessly. Two could play at this game.  
  
 Paul stirred on the towel below them. “Stell, are you being rude?” He asked, without moving even a twitch. By this time, Mary had settled herself in a chair next to Stella’s, and she prodded Stella on the leg. The two sisters whispered together furiously for a few seconds, and then Stella turned back towards John and grimaced.  
  
 “I’m wondering why you’re here,” Stella said boldly. Mary shushed her in horror and Paul growled, “Stell! Behave!”  
  
 John smiled at Stella and said, “Why do _you_ think I’m here?”  
  
 “We’ve always known who you are, you know. And I remember meeting you years ago when I was little. But you’ve never been very kind to my mum and dad.” She was very matter-of-fact in her tone of voice. Mary was groaning and covering her face with her hands, and Paul was struggling to sit up. “The things you said in those interviews really hurt their feelings.”  
  
 Paul had managed to sit up. “Stella, that’s enough! You don’t get to talk to adults like that.”  
  
 John was surprised to hear that tone from Paul. He had never seen Paul as the stern father before, (although he had a soft spot for Stern _Daddy_ , he had to admit). “It’s okay, Paul, I say we have it out. She asked a fair question, and I don’t mind answering it.”  
  
 Paul was giving Stella a warning glare, which Stella matched wrinkle for wrinkle. John laughed, and they both looked at him with irritation.  
  
 “You should see your faces! They’re identical! Two Macca Shitstorms at once! It would be scary if it weren’t so funny,” John said, laughing. Mary started giggling too. Paul made a face at John, shot one more warning look at Stella, and then laid back down again. “So, Stella,” John said cheerfully, “you want to know why I’m here, since I said mean things about your mum and dad, is that it?”  
  
 Stella nodded sternly.  
  
 “Did anyone ever tell you that hate is not the opposite of love?” John asked gently.  
  
 Stella shook her head, confused. Of course hate was the opposite of love! Everyone knew that!  
  
 John shook his head lightly and said, “No, hate is not the opposite of love. _Indifference_ is the opposite of love. Not caring about the other person either way is the complete absence of love. So, maybe I hated your parents sometimes, and I loved them other times. But there was never one moment when I didn’t _care_ about them.”  
  
 Stella met John’s eyes for a long while and said, “If I had a friend who had treated me the way you treated my dad, I would never forgive her.”  
  
 John took this declaration on the chin, but then he looked down at Paul, still lying there gorgeous at his feet, and his face softened. “Well, all that tells you is that your dad is a very special person. Because he has forgiven me.”  
  
 Paul’s hand came up and pushed up his sunglasses, and he met John’s eyes and the gaze they exchanged was full of love. It was hard not to miss. Stella and Mary observed this, and then looked at each other, feeling a little confused. Paul then spoke,  
  
 “Stella baby, if I can forgive him, and your mum can forgive him, I think you should consider forgiving him too.”  
  
 “But you don’t have to,” John added. “I mean, if it’s more fun to remain angry with me, I’m okay with it.” He gave Stella his silly closed-mouth full-face smile, and then made a show of reopening his book, finding his place, and starting to read.  
  
  


*****

  
 It was the last day of their time in Sardinia – they would be leaving the next morning – and John was sunbathing around the pool while Paul was doing energetic laps in the pool. Honestly, John thought, the man never stopped. Linda was stretched out on a chaise lounge, reading a cookbook and making studious notes as she did so. Julian and the girls were sunbathing, and the little boys were sitting on the ledge of the pool kicking their feet and talking quietly to each other: a Lennon making fast friends with a 2 years-younger McCartney. Where had he heard that story before? He smiled, and then looked back at Paul, who had finally stopped doing laps, and was pushing his hair back off his face before he kicked over to the boys by the stairs.  
  
 “You wanna play Marco Polo?” He asked them. They both shouted ‘yes’. Paul raised his voice. “Stella? You gonna play too?” Stella got up and without further ado jumped like a cannonball in to the pool, pinching her nose as she did so. “I’ll be It first,” Paul volunteered, and he closed his eyes, turning his back to the pool and began counting down from 10. John was watching this with such a loving expression on his face that Linda felt its burn and looked up, capturing it. She held her breath. John was a formidable rival, and it scared her a little, but there was something so… _magnetic_ …about the attraction between the two men, that she couldn’t help being stirred by it. It was a turn-on, too. Linda chuckled at herself and went back to her cookbook.  
  
 “John – you gonna sit there like a big lump, or are you gonna come join us?” Paul taunted from the pool.  
  
 “Well!” John said loudly. “No one talks to me like that!” He got up pretending to be angry and then jumped in to the pool just like Stella had done, even pinching his nose, and making a huge splash that made Heather and Mary scream because cold water hit them on their legs. “Alright Marco,” John yelled at Paul across the pool, “start countin’. Me and my crew here – he gestured to Stella, Sean and James – are gonna flatten you!” The kids all cheered and gave John high fives, and Paul began to count to ten again.  
  
 Some little time later, Linda drifted up to the house to make dinner one last time, and as she did so, she smiled to herself as she heard the shouts from the pool. “Marco!” “Polo!” “Marco!” “Polo!” Later, she went out on to the patio and looked down to the pool area. Now Mary and even Heather and Julian were in the pool, and they were all evading John, who was plowing through the water like a battleship, and blowing water out his mouth and thrashing, reducing Paul and the kids to giggles. That’s how John knew where they were – by the sounds of their unrestrained giggles. John finally caught Paul by his leg, and pulled him under water, and then grabbed him around his waist as they popped up out of the surface of the water.  
  
 “I got him! I got him!” John was shouting, and the kids were cheering him on.  
  
 “You’re _traitors_ , all of you!” Paul shouted to them all, as John swung him around by the waist as if he were a doll.  
  
 Eventually, they all straggled up the stairs to the patio, and into their various rooms to dry off and get changed. Paul was naked in the master bedroom, drying off, when Linda walked in.  
  
 “So, is he going to come and live with us?” Linda asked him. Paul met her eyes.  
  
 “He says so. But we’ll see. Yoko has a strong hold on him still, I think.” Paul held his arms open and Linda walked into them. They hugged and kissed for a few minutes, and then Linda said,  
  
 “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen,” and as she pulled away she spanked his butt, hard. Paul said, without thinking, “Not you too, now!”  
  
 Linda pulled back and looked at him strangely. “Not me too, what?”  
  
 Paul actually blushed and then said, “Nothing, nothing.” He was flustered and quickly started fussing with his suitcase, looking for something to put on. Linda hid her amused reaction to this unintended disclosure and went back to the kitchen. _I sure don’t want to go there_, she chuckled to herself, _until I’m alone in bed, and ready to masturbate_.  
  
 There was a warm conviviality as usual around the dinner table, but this night it was subdued. Everyone knew that their idyll was ending, and they’d have no more glorious summer days on the beach, or sitting around the fireplace in the patio. No evenings when the teenagers played their tape machines and talked, while the younger kids splashed in the pool, and while on the patio above, Paul played the Spanish guitar, wrapped up in a world of his own, John and Linda leaning back smoking pot and listening to the music. They all lingered around the table much longer than usual, not wanting it to end, until the little boys were dropping off to sleep.  
  
 Heather had slipped away first, to pack and look forward to seeing her boyfriend again. Julian had moved into the living area to strum his guitar. Linda took the boys to their room, and settled them in their bunk bed. It was Mary and Stella’s turn to wash the dishes, and they completed their task in a companionable silence, while John and Paul sat at the kitchen table and drank their whiskey. Soon, the girls finished, and as they left, Mary came and gave first Paul and then John a big hug goodnight. Stella followed behind, hugging her dad. Then she stood shyly next to John for a moment, until he opened his arms for a hug too. She smiled, and gave him a fierce hug and a smack on his cheek, before bounding out of the room.  
  
 Paul grinned at John in a conspiratorial way. This last night was Linda’s night, because Paul would be going to New York with John the next day, not with his family to London. He was going to stay with John for two weeks. Paul got up and offered John a hand. Paul pulled John close to him and hugged him, his hands gently rubbing John’s back, as they stood with their foreheads together. “I’ll see you in the morning, John,” Paul whispered. And they kissed goodnight. Paul walked John to the kitchen door, and watched as John disappeared in the dark. A dark thought skittered across his brain like a frightened lizard.  
  
  _I want to go with him tonight._  
  


*****

  
  
 The next day the limousine showed up to take them all to the airport. It was early in the morning, and the kids were still drowsy, and a little sad about leaving. Sean was sitting on John’s lap, and James was on Paul’s, because otherwise there wouldn’t have been enough room in the car. They all ate breakfast in the VIP room for British Airways at the Rome airport after their commuter flight from Sardinia, the kids lost in their thoughts, and the adults quietly making small talk. The flight to New York was leaving first, and the whole crew walked together to the departure gate.  
  
 Stella was holding her dad’s hand tightly. When they got to the gate, she pulled his head down and whispered to him, “Why are you going with _them_? You’re _our_ dad.”  
  
 Paul hated to do it, but he lied. “I’m going for business, baby, but I’ll call you every day, like I always do.”  
  
 Stella believed him, but she was still jealous as she saw Sean grab Paul’s hand as they disappeared through the door and on to the ramp, and saw the easy camaraderie between her dad and Uncle John. She had watched the lingering goodbye between her parents, and she knew they loved each other. Still, again, it was hard to see him so much at home with people outside of their little family; they’d always been their own little world, one for all, and all for one.  
  
 “Come on Stella,” Linda said, “We’re going to our gate now.” Linda was looking at her daughter with empathy and a little amusement. “He’s only going to be away for two weeks.”  
  
 “He never used to go anywhere without us, why now?” Stella asked as they headed for the London departure gate. Mary had joined them, and wanted to know the answer too. She had been too polite and tactful to ask, and was grateful that Stella just barged ahead and asked no matter what.  
  
 “You’re older now, you need to be in school and with your friends. It’s different from when you were little.”  
  
 Stella and Mary considered this answer, and it did make a certain amount of sense. They did prefer being at home with their school friends to dragging themselves all over the planet. They decided everything was okay – nothing was wrong – and so Linda was able to change the subject.  
  
 Linda was thinking to herself, though, as she and her children, as well as Julian, arrayed themselves around the London departure gate, _what on earth are they going to ask me if John and Sean come to live with us?_


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We Kiss in A Shadow

 The Wednesday Evening Salon for the month of July 1983 started at 7 p.m. – earlier than usual, as Jason had wanted to serve a buffet meal for his tight group of friends. He had opened the windows in the flat because the weather was perfect for that time of year, and the breeze was very refreshing after a long, rainy March and April.  
  
 Jason had outdone himself with the buffet. He had rolled out all of his specialties, including a rack of lamb marinated in a plum sauce, baked eggplant with ricotta and marinara, English peas in a very light hollandaise with vinaigrette, Swedish meatballs in a Bordeaux reduction sauce with shallots and fennel, sautéed halibut gently nestled in a buttered roux, and small new potatoes, pan-braised in olive oil, garlic, fresh bay leaves and salt. The selection of wines, both red and white, was of the best quality and paired to compliment the food items. There would be fresh sabayon and berries for dessert, chased by a fine Italian limoncello and strong Columbian coffee.  
  
 Earlier that morning, Jason had run into John on the elevator. John was returning with Sean from a vacation in an obviously sunny clime, because John had a nice tan and seemed relaxed. Jason had suggested that John join the salon evening for dinner and drinks. John mentioned that he might be able to join them, but that after he dropped Sean at home, he was heading off across the park to the loft. Jason inferred from that statement that Paul was waiting for John at the loft.   
  
 “Paul is invited, too, of course,” Jason said lightly. This drew an intense stare from John.  
  
 “He has business meetings this afternoon. I don’t know when he’ll be free.”  
  
 Jason smiled easily, making an effort to sound unconcerned and disinterested. “Just so you know you’re both welcome. It’s starting at 7 p.m. tonight.”  
  
 John nodded as he stepped out of the elevator without making any promises or commitments.  
  
 John had to think about this invitation. While he had attended a few Salons in the previous six months, he had not disclosed the fact that his lover was a man, and certainly not discussed Paul with the group as a whole. He had visited with Gerry and Jason during times when Paul was in England, but mainly to whine about how lonely and depressed he was when Paul wasn’t with him, and to generally assure them that his therapy was slogging along. But showing up at the Salon with Paul in tow was an entirely different level of risk and exposure, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Still, he did want to see them all – it had been 3 months – and he was almost giddy with the recent concessions Paul and Linda had made for him, and he did kind of want to celebrate his happiness with these men who had been so great to him. He’d discuss it with Paul, and see how Paul felt about it. You never knew with Paul. Sometimes Paul was far more socially courageous than John.  
  
 The Salon had been bubbling along, carried by good wine, food, and company, for almost an hour when Jason went to answer the doorbell. John stood there holding a bottle of Jason’s favorite whiskey, with a big grin on his face. “Sorry I’m late, got caught up reorganizing everything after the trip…”  
  
 Jason noticed that John had not brought Paul along, and quickly shuttered his disappointment. He had hoped that he and Gerry had progressed further up the trust ladder in John’s life, but at least John had shown up, looking the healthiest he’d ever looked for as long as Jason had known him. Besides the tan, John had gained weight, and his face had filled out, giving him a much younger appearance. The reddish brown hair looked shinier and more abundant. There was a twinkle in John’s eye and a bounce in his step that Jason had never seen before. From this, Jason gleaned that Paul was keeping John very happy, even if Gerry still worried that Paul wasn’t “smart enough” for John. Whatever that meant.  
  
 John was greeted with boisterous cheers and hugs by the group at large, and soon he was piling his plate with foods of which either Yoko or Paul would disapprove, on the theory that what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. He had to admit that Linda was an amazing cook and somehow made a vegetarian meal seem as filling as a “real” meal. John had packed on the pounds in his two-week stay in Sardinia, what with all the pasta and polenta. He’d have to watch what he ate – starting tomorrow! he promised – as he gazed longingly at the meatballs.  
  
 The chatter was loud and general for another hour, but by 9 p.m. the men sat around for their question time. The man whose turn it was had a mischievous smile on his face when he announced, “I want to hear about John’s vacation! He looks fantastic! I don’t want to discuss a topic until we hear all about it!” The other men “aye-ayed” that suggestion, and John shrugged in a good-natured manner.  
  
 “Yeah, where’d you go?” One of the other men asked.  
  
 “I was in Sardinia for two weeks, with Sean.” John replied.  
  
 “Just _Sean_?” Jason twinkled.  
  
 “Well, my lover was there, too…” John saw everyone’s eyes light up as if a switch had been triggered. “And, well, this gets very weird, so was my lover’s family.”  
  
 “ _WHAT?”_ At least three different men shouted this out, with Jason in the forefront.  
  
 “Your lover’s _husband and children_?” A fourth man asked.  
  
 John looked around at the room, and took a deep breath. “My lover doesn’t have a husband – he has a _wife_.”  
  
 Jason and Gerry exchanged pleased smiles, while the other men exclaimed. One of them managed to put a phrase together. “Your lover is a _man?_ All this time it’s been a _man,_ not a woman?”  
  
 John looked a little ashamed and said, “I’m sorry about that. It’s hard to know who to trust when you’re in my position, so you end up not trusting just about everyone.”  
  
 The men all rushed in to assure John that they understood, but still – being human – they all wanted to know more. “Do you feel comfortable discussing this is front of all of us?” Gerry asked. “Because, if you do each one of us will _never_ repeat it. Isn’t that correct?” Gerry was looking sternly at the other men, who quickly asserted their individual and group loyalty to John.  
  
 Feeling a little more sure of himself, John sat back in his seat and decided he might as well have fun with this. “Yeah, so, his wife and kids came, too, and I brought Julian and Sean. Just one great big happy family.” John chuckled.  
  
 “ _How…what….why…how_?” Jason was obviously over-excited and unable to form a sentence.  
  
 “So, his wife has known all along about the relationship,” John offered. “She was wanting him to keep it ‘invisible’ to her before, and of course that turned out to be untenable. So then she agreed he could spend a few weeks every few months with me. But soon that wasn’t enough for either of us. I could tell that he was in emotional pain over the situation. He was in so much pain that his wife suggested we all vacation together, so she and I could develop a friendship and an understanding, and so the man we both love wouldn’t always be caught in the middle.”  
  
 “What an extraordinary woman!” Jason blurted out.  
  
 “She is. I totally underestimated her for all of these years. But I was jealous, of course. She had what I wanted.”  
  
 “How did it go?” Jason asked.  
  
 “Really well. The kids were there because she doesn’t go anywhere without hers, so she suggested I bring Sean, too. And it was funny. She was like the Queen Bee, cooking all these great meals in the kitchen, and the kids all running around and amok. She’s a great broad, too. Sat up doing pot with us a few nights and all three of us were laughing our asses off.” John smiled at the memories. “Then there was the time P…my lover took all the kids down to the beach, and she and I sat on the porch comparing notes on him. We were laughing because, you know, ‘he does _that_ to you too?’”  
  
 Everyone laughed.  
  
 Gerry asked, “And how about this man? How did he feel about all this?”  
  
 John sobered a little. “It was clearly weird for him. With the kids there…he found it difficult, even in private, to be physically affectionate with me. It was getting a little better near the end of our stay, but he had to have a _whole_ lot of pot…”  
  
 Gerry nodded. He suspected that this was a whole lot harder on Paul than it was on John or Paul’s wife.  
  
 “So what happens next?” Jason prodded.  
  
 “This is the really _big_ news, “ John said.  
  
 “Even bigger than what you just told us?” One of the men asked.  
  
 “Yeah. I’m asking Yoko for a separation. I haven’t told her yet. But I’m going to go back to England for awhile to see how it is.”  
  
 “That’s _great_ news!” Jason cried. “I mean, the _separation_ part, not the _moving_ part,” he added.  
  
 John laughed. “I can’t take it anymore – the meddling, the manipulation, the ulterior motives, the secretiveness. I’m sick to death with the mind games. They were always only on _me,_ anyway.”  
  
 “So what does your lover think about this?”  
  
 “He supports me. We talked about it in Sardinia, and L…his wife said I could stay with them for a while. It was having a place to _go_ that made the separation possible for me.”  
  
 “You’ll be living with your lover and his wife and children?” The men could not believe this.  
  
 “It’s an odd situation, I agree, but then there has never been anything normal about our relationship. We’ve always just made up our own rules as we go along.”  
  
 Gerry, being a lawyer, couldn’t help himself. “How is Yoko going to take it when you ask for a separation?”  
  
 “She’ll go apeshit,” John replied honestly.  
  
 “She’ll avenge herself on you, won’t she?” Gerry asked.  
  
 “That’s what P…my lover is doing now. He’s meeting with his financial advisors and lawyers to strategize the best way to extricate me.”  
  
 This piece of information stumped everyone but Gerry and Jason, who knew who the ‘lover’ was.  
  
 “Is he a lawyer?” One of the other men asked, confused.  
  
 John laughed. “No, but he could have been. He understands business and finance even better than Yoko does, so I asked him to talk to the lawyers for me.”  
  
 Gerry was surprised by this revelation about Paul’s business and finance expertise. Maybe his impression about Paul not being smart was in error. It was just that Paul had seemed so, well, _pretty_ , and _charming_ and lightweight intellectually, so Gerry had not gotten a smart ‘vibe’ off him.  
  
 “So what does he do?” Someone else asked.  
  
 John stalled. “He’s…multi-talented,” John finally answered. “He’s rich as Croesus, a very successful businessman, but also he’s very creative…” John hedged on the description, thinking that ‘musician’ would give it all away.  
  
 “Tell us more about him. How old is he? Where’s he from? What does he look like? How long have you known each other?” The questions were coming as if the floodgates had just opened.  
  
 “Whoa! One question at a time!” Jason intervened.  
  
 “He’s about 2 years younger than me,” John responded.  
  
 “Younger? For some reason, I thought he would be older than you,” said one of the guests.  
  
 “No, younger.” Then John laughed. “Although most of our friends would say he _acts_ older than me.” The men laughed.  
  
 “Where’s he from? How’d you meet?” The questions were repeated.  
  
 “He’s from England, we met before I was famous, so it’s been over 25 years now…”  
  
 One of the men joked, “Twenty-five years. That’s a long time to be in love with the same man.”  
  
 “…You mean in queer years…” Jason added, causing everyone to laugh.  
  
 John smiled and then said, “We’ve had our ups and downs. We’ve had fallings out. But we always eventually get back together. He says its because we’re ‘magnetized’.”  
  
 The men all laughed, and then one of them asked, “What’s he like, his personality, and what’s he look like?”  
  
 John was a bit taken aback by the intense and detailed interest these men were showing. “Well, he’s really good company – funny and smart. He’s also intuitive, he knows my moods by heart and just tunes his own moods to harmonize with mine.”  
  
 Several of the men muttered in admiration of John’s description.  
  
 “He has a long fuse. Doesn’t get riled up easily. That’s important, because I’m always acting up over one thing or another, and he takes it in his stride. What else did you want to know again?”  
  
 “What he looks like?”  
  
 “Ah, well, he’s drop dead gorgeous from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and everywhere in between.” The men all made appreciative sounds, although one of them was skeptical.  
  
 “So he’s smart, funny, creative, rich, calm, supportive and gorgeous. Why do I fee like you’re blinded by love and might be exaggerating?”  
  
 John looked like the cat that got the canary. “Well, Jason and Gerry have met him.” John turned to them. “Did I lie?” John’s eyes were dancing while he threw his two friends under the bus. This announcement of course let loose a chorus of cries and exclamations. Soon, Jason and Gerry were under siege.  
  
 “That was very naughty of you, John,” Jason declared. He then turned to the others and said, “We were sworn to secrecy by John, so we weren’t free to talk about it.”  
  
 “And so?” The questioner asked.  
  
 “And so what?” Jason responded.  
  
 “And so is John exaggerating?”  
  
 Jason laughed. “No. He _is_ the most beautiful human being I’ve ever seen in person, and he was very funny and charming. And he has the sexiest voice…”  
  
 John smiled throughout as he watched the various expressions. He felt a strong pull of affection for them all, and suddenly felt as though he should throw caution to the wind. He asked Jason if he could use the phone, and called Paul at John Eastman’s office. It was almost 10 p.m. and the business meeting was breaking up. “Come join me at Gerry and Jason’s – I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”  
  
 Earlier in the day Paul had told John that he would defer entirely to John on whether he should attend the dinner party. So, obediently, Paul took down the directions, and then John went back to the study, where they had begun to talk about other issues. John joined them quietly, smiling to himself over his secret. It was _so_ much fun springing Paul on unsuspecting people! The mouths agape, the stumbling words, the blushes. This was going to be hilarious!  
  
 It was 10:30 p.m., and the Salon guests had started on a topic that required each participant to discuss an interesting movie he had seen recently, when the doorbell rang. Everyone looked up in confusion since the entire complement of Salon members was already present.  
  
 John waited for a theatrical moment, and then said, “Oh – did I mention I’ve asked my lover to join us?”  
  
*****  
   
 John’s announcement was met with an uproar. “You’re fucking with us!” one man shouted, but his smile negated the criticism.  
  
 John said, “I’ll go get him, Jason, but all of you – be on your best behavior. I don’t want you all overwhelming him with your curiosity.” He then went to get the door.  
  
 Jason said, “Prepare yourselves for a bit of a shock,” but refused to explain why. He somehow understood that John enjoyed throwing the cat in among the pigeons. Everyone sat still in his seat, trying to act casual and nonchalant.  
  
 Meanwhile, John was greeting Paul at the door. “I’m afraid they’re all ready to pounce on you,” John said in a low, amused voice.  
  
 “ _ALL?_ How many?” Paul’s face reflected his surprise.  
  
 “Eight, including Jason and Gerry.”  
  
 “ _Eight?_ ” Paul looked worried. John realized that he might have left out the fact that it wasn’t just Jason and Gerry at the dinner party. Oops. “How are _eight people_ going to keep quiet, John?”  
  
 “Well, we know _two_ of them won’t talk, so we really only have to trust six more people.” John could see that a Macca Shitstorm was sitting on the horizon. “It’s ok, Pud, you can trust them. They’ve never leaked a thing about me in all these years.”  
  
 Paul allowed his blood pressure to go back to normal but John could tell he was still pissed off. Yet a moment later, the Beatle Paul mask dropped down over Paul’s face, changing the shrewd, distrustful visage to a happy-go-lucky friendly façade.  
  
 “I’ll follow you,” Paul said. So John led him to the study, where they found the _quietest_ group of gay men ever assembled in the history of Manhattan dinner parties. As Paul became visible to them, John watched as one jaw after the other dropped open. None of them made a sound. Jason and Gerry both stood up for a hug.  
  
 “Paul!” Jason said warmly. “It’s been a while!” Paul smiled and gave Jason and then Gerry a warm hug each. He then turned to face his dumbstruck audience.  
  
 “Hi, I’m Paul,” he said, and he looked to Jason for the introductions. Paul charmingly accepted each individual greeting, and no one could tell that he had grave misgivings about this whole enterprise. He took a seat next to John on a green sofa, and John suddenly asked him,  
  
 “Did you eat dinner?”  
  
 Paul had to think about that for a moment. “We had sandwiches a few hours ago.” John knew that meant it was probably _several_ hours ago. He got up to serve Paul. Jason jumped up at the same time John did.  
  
 “You have to eat something! I’ll warm some food up for you.” Jason was already moving toward the kitchen, followed by John, who was saying,  
  
 “He’s a vegetarian. I’ll tell you what he’ll eat.”  
  
 And then Paul was alone with a room full of strangers, who were all staring at him in varying degrees of admiration and awe. Paul knew it was on him to break the ice. He leaned back on the sofa, and crossed his legs in a continental manner. Dressed in a pure white shirt and crisp blue jeans, he looked both casual and elegant. (Paul had long since stopped quibbling over John’s insistence upon dressing him; in fact, John was _buying_ Paul’s New York wardrobe now!) Paul ran both of his hands through his hair, tossing it back.  
  
 “So what were you all discussing before I so rudely interrupted?” he asked, with his slow, sexy voice.  
  
 No one spoke for a moment, until Gerry said, “Each of us was talking about an interesting movie we’ve seen recently.”  
  
 “Sounds fun. Please do continue where you left off,” Paul said in a cheerful, careless voice.  
  
 After another short lull, the conversation started up again, with one man after the other taking quick stolen glances at Paul. They didn’t realize that their collective curiosity was obvious to Paul, because Paul was practiced in the art of pretending not to notice when people were staring at him.  
  
 Soon, as the men discussed a movie, John and Jason were back, setting up Paul’s plate on the coffee table and both of them fussing over Paul like he was a cherished child. Paul’s eyes – dancing with amusement – looked up and caught Gerry’s eyes and they both grinned. The others noticed and felt pleased by Paul’s amusement, and the fact that he took all of the mothering in a patient silence. John sat next to him and urged Paul to eat.  
  
 Gerry said, “John, it’s your turn – what thought-provoking movie have you seen recently? Tell us about it.”  
  
 John favored them all with an evil smile. “Not too long ago, Paul and I watched a movie on video called ‘ _Les Partenaires Commerciaux.’_ In English that means ‘ _Business Partners._ ’ _”_ Paul’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, suspended in air for a moment, before it continued its progress towards his mouth. He kept his head down throughout.  
  
 “Oh! Gerry and I have seen that! It’s naughty and intriguing!” Jason exclaimed.  
  
 “Yes, it’s a very interesting movie, I think,” John continued. “Paul – wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
 Paul gave John a full-on two-eyebrow event, and said, “Wasn’t a big fan of it myself.” He returned his focus to his plate.  
  
 “It’s _very_ French and _very_ naughty…” Jason interjected again, unable to stay quiet.  
  
 “What’s it about?” someone asked.  
  
 “Well,” John said, “it’s about these two men who are business partners – they own a magazine empire – they’ve been friends since university, and they race yachts together. One is happily married with a family,” John paused for a moment and shot an amused glance at Paul, who ignored it, “and the other one is this playboy type bachelor with all sorts of beautiful girlfriends.” John paused while he took a sip of his coffee. “So they are out on a yacht race in the Atlantic off the coast of North Africa, and they get pulled off course in a terrible storm, the sails on their boat are torn, and they manage to rig it enough to get to the inevitable deserted tropical island.”  
  
 “Oh no – not that old chestnut!” one of men announced.  
  
 “I know,” agreed John. “According to the movie industry the ocean is fuckin’ _littered_ with deserted tropical islands.” Everyone laughed.  
  
 “So then what happens?” one of the men prompted.  
  
 “So, they build a shelter, and they’re fooling with the radio, and a few days and nights go by as they struggle with the usual things you’d expect, and then one night…” John paused for effect… “They suddenly start having the hottest sex ever.”  
  
 All the guests (except for Paul and Gerry) hooted in excitement.  
  
 “It snuck up on me,” John continued. “One minute I’m thinking ‘how boring is this’, and then a moment later the screen was filled with a gigantic engorged penis!” This remark was greeted with much excited laughter. John turned to Paul, who was studiously avoiding John’s eyes – apparently fascinated with the food on his plate – and added in a taunting drawl, “Paul freaked out and left the room.” The amusement was subtle, because no one wanted to embarrass Paul by laughing too hard. They all instinctively understood that it was one thing for a straight man to _have_ homosexual sex, and it was a whole other thing to _watch_ _other men_ having homosexual sex.  
  
 “What Gerry and I thought was so intriguing was how they ended the movie,” Jason jumped in to divert attention away from Paul, who hadn’t reacted at all to John’s teasing.  
“They get rescued, and they’re sitting on this helicopter staring at each other across the aisle, and you see this look of despair on their faces, and then the movie ends, so you don’t know how they handle it when they get back to Paris.”  
  
 John said, “Yeah, that took a certain amount of courage to end it like that, I think, because obviously the audience wants to know what happened. It would have been too easy to have some pat ending.”  
  
 Gerry had been watching Paul. He had seen no indication of interest in the film or the discussion. Again, he wondered to himself whether Paul was smart enough for John. Jason, meanwhile, oblivious to Gerry’s concerns, decided to invite Paul into the conversation.  
  
 “Paul, I take it you didn’t like the movie. Why not?”  
  
 Paul realized he had to put down his fork and act like a pleasant houseguest, but he was really peeved at John for bringing up that particular movie in front of this particular crowd. He knew John had delighted in embarrassing him in front of the press, the fans, the business people, and their friends all through the ‘60s and ‘70s, and Paul had borne it with as much good grace as he could muster, but this was the first time John had done this to him – made him feel stupid in front of others – since they had reconciled their friendship. That had been a few years, now. Paul had kind of hoped that John wouldn’t do that to him anymore. Oh, well. He took a deep breath and jumped in.  
  
 “I thought the ending was a cop out, myself,” Paul said softly.  
  
 “A cop out?” John and Gerry repeated this phrase at the same time. “How a cop out?” Gerry asked, intrigued.  
  
 “Well, it’s one thing to let yourself go and throw caution to the wind when you’re stuck on a deserted island, but it is a whole other thing to do that when you’re home again. They should have showed us what happened – I think the end of the movie is where they should have started it. Because what do these poor blokes do? Does the one bloke leave his wife and children, or cheat on them behind their backs? And what about the other one? Eventually he’s gonna want to stop being a playboy; what does he do? And their business – what will happen to their business? No, I think it was a complete fairy tale, and not a very interesting one at that.” Paul stopped, picked up his fork again, and as he prepared to take another bite he turned to Jason and said, “Been there, done that.”  
  
 The room was silent for a moment, until Gerry said, “Well, that’s an excellent point. I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”  
  
 Gerry looked up and noticed that John was staring at him with a wry, amused grin. “I told you he is smarter than he looks,” John said playfully. Gerry acknowledged the blow, but was worried that Paul would be upset by what John said. He looked over to Paul, who met his eye and winked.   
  
  


***** 

  
 “John, why did you expose us to all of those people?”  
It was one o’clock in the morning after John and Paul had returned from Gerry and Jason’s apartment. They were lying in bed, and John was snuggled up against Paul’s chest.  
  
 “At some point we have to trust friends, Paul, or we’ll be consigned to living cloistered in our home alone forever.” John was tracing circles on Paul’s chest, periodically stopping to twirl the hairs on Paul’s chest in circles, also. When John was doing this, Paul found it difficult to concentrate, much less to be irked with John.  
  
 “And this is that point?” Paul asked in a faraway voice.  
  
 John looked up at Paul’s face, and saw that Paul was drifting into Paul Land. “Might as well he here and now, as any other time or place,” John responded.  
  
 Paul gave some thought to this. “I don’t want to live freeze-wrapped in a flat either, John, but in the future, can you consult with me before you make such dramatic choices? What if one of them tells the press, or tells someone else who tells the press? I have Linda and my children to think of, and you have Yoko, Sean and Julian. We need to be very careful about such things.”  
  
 John sighed. “I am so tired of tip-toeing around just because I’m in love with you. How long has it been now? Let me see – 26 years! Why is it such a fucking crime that we love each other?”  
  
 Paul secretly felt John’s pain. But he felt burdened by his obligations to his wife and children. Sometimes he thought that he should never have married; never should have had children. Then he would be able to follow his heart without hurting people he loved.  
  
 “I don’t know why it is the way it is, John,” Paul finally assayed. “I only know I have a wife who loves me, and children who need me, and I owe them loyalty, and I’m already pushing it past the limit by spending this much time with you. If they also have to deal with paparazzi and the press, it will become entirely unacceptable to them.”  
  
 John allowed the silence to envelope them for several minutes. But finally, he had to say what he had to say.  
  
 “Paul, I have loved you since the moment I set eyes on you: Twenty-six years. We have been from here to beyond together, from heaven to hell and everywhere in between and back again. I told you I wanted you and only you in India – remember? That was all I _ever_ wanted – I had finally built up enough courage to actually say it to you, and you turned me down. At what point do I become someone who is important enough to you that you don’t want to hide it anymore?”  
  
 Paul started to weep. It wasn’t loud sobbing. It was deadly quiet crying, with guilty and resented tears cascading down his face unaccompanied by sound. He didn’t want John to know how bad this hurt. He didn’t want John to know he was bleeding inside. The silence went on long enough for John to rise up on his elbow to see what was going on. John saw the tears, and reached his hand out to wipe them away.  
  
 “I don’t want to make you cry, babe, I really don’t. But it is hard for me – I need to be your other half somewhere, in some group of people, in order to feel like I’m not an after-thought in your life.”  
  
 Paul finally found some words, and it felt like he was dredging them up from the bottom of his soul. “Johnny, I regret not being mature enough to understand it when you said we should live together. I was only 25. The whole fuckin’ world was on my shoulders. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. And you were fucked up on drugs, John, so you were a big emotional burden. I wasn’t strong enough – there was so much crap going on at the time. Did you know we were basically bankrupt? I couldn’t get any of you interested enough to help me.” Paul stopped to allow a few choked sobs to escape his throat. “I didn’t understand it. The ultimatum. It made no sense to me at the time. But you have no idea – every day, several times every day since – I have asked myself, ‘did I make the right choice?’”  
  
 Paul stopped long enough to get ahold of his clogged throat, and unintended sobs. A few more minutes passed before he continued. “I made my choice, and I’ve always felt as though I had to live with it, do you understand John? At all? Because but for my choice Linda would have been married to someone else. My children would not have been born. I would literally be a shadow of the person I am now. Could you have loved me that way? I mean – be honest, John. Could you have loved the stunted me that would have been if I had never had my family?”  
  
 John thought about this for several moments, and then finally said, “I love you the way you are, Paul, so I guess the answer is ‘no’. But I don’t think it is too much to ask that you allow me to be the first person in your life in at least one circle of friends. Do you think that is unreasonable?’  
  
 Paul smiled gently, and allowed his fingers to brush the bangs off of John’s forehead, and then to gently grasp John’s chin in his left hand. “No, John, it is not too much to ask. And let’s hope those blokes keep their mouths shut. I guess we’ll just have to trust them, right?”  
  
 John pushed himself across Paul’s torso in order to give him a deep, romantic kiss. The kissing went on for a few moments, with no words exchanged. After a particularly long, passionate kiss, Paul said to John, “I know I’m a worry wart. But with your friends I’ll be who you want me to be, and do what you want me to do. I promise.”  
  
 John’s mouth smothered Paul’s again, and soon the kissing became very personal and intricate. John gently encouraged Paul to turn over on to his stomach. Sitting on Paul’s bum, he began to massage Paul’s shoulders and back. John was sincerely trying to have it be about Paul, and not about himself, but his cock kept getting in the way. Paul was making little moaning sounds in response to the massage, which was slowly becoming more sensual, and then sexual. When John began to rub his penis on Paul’s ass crack, Paul knew what was on John’s mind, and without a word reached over to the bedside table and got the bottle of lube, and wordlessly passed it backwards to John. John chuckled and said, ‘Great minds think alike.”  
  
 “I love you,” Paul whispered to John, right in his ear. “I love you. I know it’s not perfect – the way it has to be - but I love you.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You Only Give Me Your Funny Paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're getting very near the end..." There is only one more chapter and an epilog left in this series after this one. In the first part of this Chapter, we are a fly on the wall in Yoko's office at the Dakota... **This is FICTION, and I seriously doubt that any of the stuff I write about Yoko in this story is true. This is poetic license all the way.**

 Almost eight months had gone by since John had informed Yoko that he and Paul were “spending time” together. Just because her strategy to have Linda pressure Paul didn’t work out, Yoko had not been sitting by idly. She had a life and a lifestyle to maintain; she had status as John’s wife; she also believed that she was what John needed, even if he had apparently decided for the moment that she wasn’t what he wanted. But since John was fickle, Yoko also believed that he would soon be finding fault with Paul. And, if he didn’t, she had her own legacy to protect.  
  
 Consequently, she had been monitoring the situation over the last several months from a discreet distance, so John would not be aware of her activities. She felt she had a number of options to choose from, but all of them required full, real time information. Thus, she still monitored his phone use, his mail, and daily debriefed the nanny and John’s personal assistant. She had hired a private investigator who had quickly informed her of where the hideaway loft was, and she had the loft staked out the whole time John was there. From this she had learned about Sean’s visit and the personal assistant’s visits, right down to what videos they watched, and what food they were eating ( _not macrobiotic – vegetarian_!). She also knew, after leaning on the nanny and John’s p.a., about the details of Sean’s sleepover event, and what the inside of the apartment was like. She had also cross-examined Sean and had learned that John and Paul not only slept together when Sean was there, but Sean had seen them in bed, and thought they’d been naked. Then, of course, there was the infamous interference by Paul in her financial arrangements for her in-laws – people that had never really contributed anything positive to John’s life, as she did. This had been a very bitter pill to swallow, and in fact, she hadn’t really swallowed it. It was still stuck in her craw. She hadn’t even finished dealing with that blow, before John had announced he was going off to spend a romantic two-week vacation, with Paul in Sardinia – and he was talking Sean, too! She had tolerated this outrage (she didn’t know that Julian, Linda and Paul’s children were there in Sardinia, too, however), hoping that the close quarters abroad would cause the two men’s relationship to devolve into the extremely unpleasant competitive dynamic she had been a witness to in the last years of the Beatles, but thus far she had seen no evidence of it, and this had long since been worrying her. Now the worry was reaching a crescendo.  
  
 John had brought Sean back this morning from Sardinia. He had left Yoko a note saying that he would be staying with Paul for the next two weeks, but would drop in periodically to see Sean. He had then left the Dakota, presumably to find his way back to Paul and their loft. It was okay, because her PI was there, and would tell her about their comings and goings. He hadn’t been able to get into the building yet; security was extremely tight and there was a doorman. Still, knowing what they were up to when not in the loft was information Yoko coveted. It had alarmed her when the PI told her about the gay bar visit, with the two of them kissing in the corner and staring at each other with goo-goo eyes. What fools they were! The chances they took!  
  
 She knew Sean was home, and John was not on the premises. So she made her way to Sean’s bedroom, where he was doodling around at his desk. She sat on the edge of Sean’s bed, and called him to her to give him a warm hug. Sean reciprocated, happy to see his mom after two weeks.  
  
 “So, did you have fun with Dad on your trip?”  
  
 “Yes! I like Paul a lot, you know. He’s fun. And Linda.”  
  
 “Linda?” Yoko felt a shock go through her, and tried to school her reaction so as not to frighten Sean.  
  
 “And James. James and I built an amazing castle in the sand with Paul and Julian,” Sean volunteered.  
  
 “Julian was there?” Yoko was shocked again.  
  
 “Yeah – he took me and James on a hike once.”  
  
 “James?” Yoko asked, her heart beating ever faster.  
  
 “James is Paul and Linda’s son.” Sean explained.  
  
 “Oh, I see,” Yoko said. And she did indeed see. “So tell me all about it. Who was there?”  
  
 “Me, Dad, Julian, Paul, Linda, James, Mary, Stella, and Heather.” Sean volunteered, counting everyone out on his fingers. “They have sooooo much fun in that family.” Sean’s face was wistful as he said this, but Yoko didn’t notice. Her heart was thudding overtime. This was _way_ worse than she had ever imagined!  
  
 “Sounds like you had a great time, Sean. What did you do with Linda?”  
  
 “She showed me how to pound dough. We made scones! Also, one day we picked all kinds of leaves and wild flowers, and then we made pictures with them – she called them a collage. I have mine rolled up in my suitcase. Do you want to see?”  
  
 “Of course, darling. But first, where did you sleep when you were there?” Yoko asked in a very calm, innocent tone.  
  
 “James and I shared a bunk bed. I got to sleep on the top one!”  
  
 “That must have been fun!” Yoko said. “And where did Dad sleep?”  
  
 “Oh, there was a cottage. He was in a separate cottage.”  
  
 “That sounds cozy. And where did Paul sleep?”  
  
 “He and Linda had a bedroom.”  
  
 “Did Paul ever sleep in the cottage too?”  
  
 “I don’t know,” Sean answered honestly. “I don’t think so, Linda was in the house, and Paul is married to her.” Sean had been very impressed with a husband and wife – parents –who frequently kissed and hugged in front of the kids.  
  
 “But remember, your dad and Paul told you they like to sleep together.”  
  
 Sean nodded and said, “That’s true. But I don’t think they did.”  
  
 “Well, it sounds like a very nice arrangement.” Yoko stopped questioning because she thought she’d gotten everything out of him that could be useful to her purpose. How outrageous! John had taken her son to spend two weeks with Paul and his family! This was going too far! It was bad enough that John had insisted on taking Sean away to spend the time with Paul. And she didn’t believe for one moment that the two men spent two weeks on holiday together and _didn’t_ have sex. In allowing this trip to happen, she had decided that the possibility that John and Paul would rub each other the wrong way would make up for the remarkable risk she had taken. Since that clearly did not happen, she would have to switch to one of her more proactive options.  
  
 She picked up the phone and called the lawyer and the financial advisor she had been talking to for months concerning the assets she shared with John. Soon a conference call was set up, and Yoko asked them the status of their assignment.  
  
 “We have the documentation ready to transfer the assets you selected to several offshore trusts in your name; we are considering the Caymans."  
  
 “No! Not in British satellites.” Yoko knew if push came to shove, British courts would side with John. “What about the Seychelles, or San Marino?”  
  
 “There are advantages to those locations,” the lawyer agreed.  
  
 “And what is the status of the Swiss account?” Yoko asked.  
  
 “It is in a double-blind trust. How much cash do you want to transfer there?” The financial advisor was asking now.  
  
 “It depends on how the liquidations are going,” Yoko responded.  
  
 “In less than two weeks we will have accrued about $30 million in liquid funds; we’ve been slowly liquidating some of the smaller assets in a way to minimize the tax hit.”  
  
 “$30 million. That’s a good start. You can start moving those funds. Not too fast. Not all at once. It should look like a slow drain of capital over a six-week period.”  
  
 “Yes, that’s what we discussed,” said the financial advisor. “An orderly liquidation of assets is less likely to alert taxing officials to the fact that you are moving assets off shore.”  
  
 “Well, thanks. Let’s get this started right away. Now, the interest in McLen,” Yoko addressed the lawyer, “where are we with that?”  
  
 “That’s much trickier, as I mentioned. You do have a power of attorney from your husband, but changing share ownership to a new corporate entity, with the residuals going to an offshore account will raise eyebrows in the corporate office of McLen. As you know, McCartney and his advisor, Eastman, watch those books like hawks. Every inquiry we’ve made about changing the names on the shares has drawn a phone call from John Eastman’s people. They’ve already called to ask me about that two or three times now, and I have simply told them it is some financial planning you and John are considering, and you haven’t made any decisions yet.”  
  
 “Well, it may be that this asset will have to stay in his name, unless you can think of something else.”  
  
 “You do have your community property right, which is a colorable argument in court…” offered the lawyer.  
  
 “True, and I’ve got to have _something_ to throw at him as a negotiating chip.” Yoko was aggravated about the nosiness of John Eastman. He had stood in her way on numerous initiatives she’d proposed at board meetings for McLen, and also for Apple. In fact, Apple was de facto run by the McCartney camp now – Aspinall and Eastman were advising George’s and Ringo’s financial advisors, and they tended to trust them over Yoko, so she was outnumbered. Very little she could do there. That is why she had been taking the profits from John’s royalties and residuals over the years and investing them in real estate, several businesses, and other sundry investments unrelated to the music rights, and now she was setting up offshore trusts to hold those assets that she alone controlled. This would leave her in a very powerful position if John should get any ideas about leaving her.  
  
 Satisfied with the status of her restructuring, Yoko hung up and then called the other lawyer. This lawyer was one of the toughest, nastiest divorce lawyers in New York. She had retained him just days after John had announced he’d be spending more time with Paul. It wasn’t that she wanted a divorce. No – what she wanted was to set up an exit strategy that would leave John stripped of so many of his assets that he would _refuse_ to divorce her. The beauty of her strategy was that if John chose to leave her anyway, she would end up with the lion’s share of the assets, and her security and situation would not have to change one iota. Either way, she came out on top.  
  
 However, her main reason for hiring the meanest divorce lawyer in New York had nothing to do with the assets. By the time she had to file, if she had to file, the vast majority of the assets would already have been transferred to her name, so they would only be fighting over the McLen and Apple rights, and a few other bits and pieces, including John’s publishing rights for his solo music and artwork. No, the reason she hired the divorce lawyer was to build a case for her having sole custody of Sean if John threatened to leave. The fact that John had a male lover and had exposed his son to that lover – naked! In bed! – had already been divulged to this lawyer. In addition, this lawyer was ready to protect her from any attempt to force her into agreeing to a silence agreement. No, Yoko knew the two things that would most motivate John not to leave would be (1) Sean, and (2) fear of public exposure. And Yoko now had primary control over those two most important bargaining chips.  
  
 In a few weeks she would be in a position to give John an ultimatum. End this nonsense with Paul, and stay in the marriage, or he would have a huge dirty mess on his hands. He’d be fighting for his assets, his song rights, his son _and_ his reputation all at the same time, and she would be in a position to trump him in most if not all of these areas. Yoko knew John. She knew he was weak and dependent. She knew he would never be able to accept losing custody of Sean, and she doubted very much that he would want his relationship with Paul to be exposed. The genius of her approach was that Paul would be even more horrified about exposure, so he might voluntarily leave John and scurry back to the safety of his family. Yoko sighed. It was too bad it had come to this, but she felt confident and justified. She had no twinges of guilt. After all, she was the one who had handled the money, and taken those profits and turned them into a $300 million estate. That was the work she had done, and she was entitled to the lion’s share. And she also believed that John needed her; she was the right person to keep him in line, and so her real purpose was to keep him in the marriage, and to herself.  
  
 Having gotten the status from her divorce lawyer (everything was well on its way), Yoko felt she could relax. She opened her bottom drawer, and found the drug paraphernalia. John did not know that Yoko was still hooked on heroin. This was Yoko’s dirty little secret. And, unfortunately, she had found that she needed bigger fixes more often ever since John had told her about Paul. That had been her worst nightmare come to life. She had lived in fear of Paul’s influence over John since the day she zeroed in on John as her target. Despite all of the things she had done to help John and to distance him from Paul, she still had been forced to hear how great Paul was whenever she and John had a fight. “ _I should’ve stayed with Paul!”_ had been thrown in her face numerous times over the years. Yet she had been the one to get him away from the LSD, and away from the pit that the Beatles had become for John, and she had been the one who had given him _avant garde_ creds and political relevancy. In a few moments, however, as the drug did its trick, all these angry, bitter thoughts had slowly leaked from her mind.  
  
  


*****

  
  
 Paul’s business meeting with John Eastman and the lawyers to discuss John’s financial affairs had left Paul extremely worried. When Eastman told him something was rotten in Denmark, Paul believed it. Paul believed almost everything Eastman said, because they had been through the wars together for 14 years now. And those had been some pretty hairy wars. He didn’t really know what he could say to _his_ John, though, because none of the issues that had been discussed in the meeting would be of interest to John; nor would he understand them, because he insisted upon being willfully ignorant when it came to money and business. Oh, he liked the money well enough, and had no problem spending it, but he really didn’t want to be bothered with details like where did it come from? How much do I have? How best to make it grow? How to protect it?  
  
 Paul sighed. This was going to be a gigantic pigfuck, and the last thing in the world he wanted to do was get involved in another mammoth set of lawsuits over money and business. He had studiously avoided suing people for years now, because he had hated the whole Beatles Armageddon so much.  
  
 Paul had managed to keep his concerns to himself after he and John had returned from the Salon soiree, and then he had decided to put it off until the next day, opting instead to fall asleep peacefully in John’s arms; he had found he was thoroughly exhausted after the flight back from Europe, and then the all day business meetings. But here it was, the next day, and they’d eaten breakfast, and were sitting around reading newspapers with fresh cups of coffee. Now was the time Paul would have to bring it up. Bravely, he summoned up his Beatle Paul positivism and broached the ugly subject.  
  
 “The meeting I went to yesterday – I found out some interesting things.” Paul watched as John’s eyes rolled up in his head behind the wall of newspaper. John hated to talk about business meetings. Paul tried again. “I have some real concerns, John.” He didn’t dare mention John Eastman. Even though Eastman had helped John with the Sardinia trip, Paul suspected that John still didn’t trust Eastman on money or financial issues.  
  
 John said in a bored tone, “Concerns?”  
  
 “Yes. It’s about some weird questions McLen and Apple have been getting in the last few months about transferring your shares and interests to an offshore trust entity.”  
  
 John finally put the newspaper down. “What now? What does that mean?”  
  
 “It means,” Paul said slowly, searching for words artists and musicians could understand, “that one of Yoko’s financial advisors has been researching how to take your name off as owner of your shares and put the name of a company in as owner instead. This company would be brand new, created for the purpose of holding the shares, and it would be out of reach of the British and American courts, and the offshore countries will not cooperate with any subpoenas from other countries’ courts. There are these small countries, mostly islands, where people want to stash their assets to avoid not only taxes, but also their creditors.”  
  
 John heard it all, and he at least got the germane point. “Who is trying to take my name off my shares?” He demanded.  
  
 “It hasn’t happened yet, and I will not let it happen without your full approval and consent, I promise, but the fact that this person is asking questions about it is very strange. It is worrisome.”  
  
 “You think Yoko is behind it?” John asked.  
  
 “Who else would it be?” Paul stopped and then added. “Of course, it might be perfectly legitimate. In that case, all you have to do is ask her why the questions were asked and what is going on, and then maybe she would explain it to you.”  
  
 John was silent. The one thing he knew above all else was he did not want to lose the rights to his songs, to his music, to anything he created. He wanted those things clearly in his name, so there would be no confusion about who had control over them. He also knew he could not face Yoko about this, so he nixed the idea of confronting her about it.  
  
 “What should I do?” John asked.  
  
 “I think you should write a letter to the McLen and Apple boards, get it certified by a notary public, instructing the boards that no transfer of shares or interests in either company out of your name would be authorized by you except in person at a board meeting. You should also submit a revocation of the power of attorney you gave to Yoko, at least with respect to the act of transferring ownership of the shares.”  
  
 “That’s all I have to do?”  
  
 “Yes, because then neither company would have the legal power to act on transfer instructions from anyone other than you, so they won’t do it.”  
  
 “Yoko will go crazy.”  
  
 “I don’t see why. You are the owner of those shares and interests, and while she may have a community property interest in them if they are liquidated, she does not have control over the shares themselves, which are issued in your name only.”  
  
 “Will your lawyer draft up these documents for me?”  
  
 “No, that would be a conflict of interest. But my lawyer can refer you to your own lawyer and financial advisor, and they can do the work for you if you still want to, after you have spoken to them.”  
  
 “Okay, let’s do that,” John said. He was bored with the topic and ready to move on.  
  
 No time like the present, Paul thought. He picked up the phone and called Eastman and got a referral. He then called that lawyer and made an appointment for John the next day. The letter and the revocation of the power of attorney would stop whatever funny business was going on with the McLen and Apple holdings, but where there is smoke there is fire, and Paul was very worried about what Yoko was doing with all the other community assets. Once John hired his own lawyer and financial advisor, Paul was going to give them some very explicit instructions on the type of behind the scenes discovery they needed to conduct to get information about John’s financial holdings as soon as possible. In such a situation, the last place they should go would be to Yoko or her financial advisors.  
  
 Having settled this little problem, Paul took his businessman hat off, and, channeling his new appreciation of the submissive side of sex, he walked over to John, stripped him of his newspaper, and climbed on to John’s lap, face forward – the way John liked it best. John looked up with a look of surprised delight, and Paul then said, “John, have you ever heard of a rim job?”  
  
 “Aye, but I’m surprised you have.”  
  
 “Oh, I’m not as innocent as I look,” Paul said with a breezy smile.  
  
 “So what bad man has been whispering in your ear about rim jobs, Paulie?”  
  
 “I was looking at that book of yours – the one you’ve left in the loo, about male sexuality.”  
  
 “That was very thoughtless of me. I shouldn’t leave such naughty material lying about where an innocent lamb like you could pick it up…”  
  
 “I said, I’m not as innoc…”  
  
 John pulled Paul’s head towards him. “I’ll be the judge of that, I think,” he growled, and then he kissed the plush mouth fiercely.  
  
 Paul felt a tingle in his crotch area. Being roughed up just a tiny bit was quite a change from the regular menu of his sexual life. Who knew he’d like it so much?  
  
 “So, you want a rim job, do ya?” John asked, his thumbs massaging either side of Paul’s jaw. But he didn’t give Paul a chance to respond, because he claimed the now bruised mouth even harder than before, nibbling on Paul’s lower lip, and holding it firm there for a long moment. Then John started to push Paul off his lap. “Up, get up, and move that delicious little bum of yours in to the bathroom.”  
  
 Paul did as he was told, and John followed right behind him watching the rhythmic swing of that one-of-a-kind ass as they walked.  
  
 “I’ve done it before with women,” John said, “but you’ll be my first man. I’m actually amazed that you asked me about this, because I’ve been trying to think of a way to broach the subject with you.”  
  
 “You mean, like leaving a phallic-shaped bookmark in the chapter titled ‘Rimming’ in that sex book of yours _right by_ the toilet?”  
  
 John chuckled. “Well, there was still a _chance_ you’d never look,” he said, starting to strip Paul of his clothing.  
  
 Paul didn’t want to spoil John’s fun, but of course he’d been rimmed before. Dozens of times – in Hamburg by prostitutes, in the Swinging Sixties by groupies and girlfriends, and in the Seventies by his wife, when they were looking to expand the boundaries of their sex life. He’d also _done_ the rimming for girlfriends, and his wife. But never had he done it with a man, either way, so he was quite happy to let John think he was the first one to earn the dubious pleasure of licking Paul’s ass. Anyway, when he found the obvious clue John had left for him in the bathroom he quickly ascertained that John was craving it. He hadn’t been sure whether John would want to rim or be rimmed, but John’s immediate strong reaction was to take over and do the rimming. Paul had been content for it to go either way, because he was an enthusiastic practitioner of the art.  
  
 Paul knew the drill. He stepped into the shower and began soaping up. John followed him, to assist. You can’t be too careful about such things. Paul handed John the bath oil, and John indicated that Paul should bend over. Paul did so. John’s hands were rubbing in and around Paul’s anus – soapy, oily, perfumy fingers digging in and around the opening. Nothing worse than a smelly ass if you were going to be licking it, John always thought.  
  
 The ablutions completed, Paul chose to dry Paul down with the towel, and then led him to the bed by his hand. When Paul went submissive like this on him, John’s cock grew hard as a rock. Consequently, after he persuaded Paul to lie face down on the bed, he lubed up and put on his cock ring, so he wouldn’t come too soon. Then he coaxed Paul to bring his ass up, while leaning on his elbows.  
  
 Paul allowed John to push and pull him into the position John found most erotic, and he placed a pillow under his head, while he turned his face slightly to the right. It had been a long time. Linda had never liked rimming as much as Paul did, so by the late ‘70s, she had been less willing to do this with him until Paul finally gave up suggesting it. So Paul was definitely intently awaiting this treatment.  
  
 John started by literally snogging Paul’s ass. It tickled Paul, and also made him feel very saucy. He was quite happy to wiggle his ass a little to excite John more and to telegraph his own pleasure to John. This, of course, caused John to become almost ravenous. He started biting Paul’s ass, a few bites on each cheek, as Paul squirmed to avoid John’s teeth. Paul was not sure he liked being bitten on the ass. It hurt when John’s incisors were pressuring his tender skin, but it also made his cock hard. No doubt he’d have bite marks on his butt. Paul prayed they’d be gone before he was Linda’s again.  
  
 Suddenly, Paul felt John’s hands separating his cheeks at a place adjacent to his hole. John’s thumbs were putting pressure on the perineum and this excited Paul, who was trying not to shout, _start already! Lick me!_ He was supposed to be the rim-virgin to John’s grizzled veteran in this scenario. Then he felt the first flickers. Paul at first wondered if he had lost the taste for it, because while he could feel the wet, slippery, flicking, poking tongue, he wasn’t feeling the excitement in his pelvic area like he remembered. Oh well, it didn’t matter, because John was having a grand old time.  
  
 John was humming in a kind of euphoria while he did to Paul what he had long dreamt of doing. He’d had his first rim job in Hamburg too, from a prostitute, and he had been very embarrassed about this and never told Paul about it. He figured Paul would be disgusted and not want to go near his asshole again. Since Paul’s ass, and everything to do with it, was John’s most intense fetish object, he was bound and determined to make the most of this opportunity. Consequently, he thrust his tongue as deep inside Paul’s anus as it would go, and even managed to flick on the outermost walls of the rectum. Suddenly he felt Paul jerk. John smiled. This was the first sign John had gotten that Paul was truly enjoying it.  
  
 Paul felt that protruding poke and suddenly the nerve endings around the edge of his anus were on fire. Yes! This is what he remembered! But somehow, it was much more intense – much more exciting – with John doing the dirty. As taboo as rimming was to most people, having it done to you by someone of the same sex was even _more_ illicit, and this made the whole experience that much more erotic for Paul.  
  
 John started to tease Paul now, pulling out and licking outside the rim, then on the rim, and then protruding again – this time a little bit, the next time much deeper – Paul was squirming and appeared to be in ecstasy, if the way Paul was chewing on his hand with his eyes glued shut was any indicator. John upped the ante by rubbing his hands on Paul’s ass while he licked and poked, and then he took one of his hands, and clamped on to Paul’s cock. He started stroking the cock while he slobbered away on Paul’s ass until Paul had clearly lost his mind.  
  
 Paul had totally forgotten who and where he was. He had gone to that great black space in his brain, where shocks of light of all different colors exploded in crazy abandon. He knew he was out of control, he was swinging his ass and cock around like a complete wanton, but he couldn’t help it, and didn’t care how he looked. He just wanted to feel it – to feel the throbbing pleasure and nothing else. Soon he felt the first tingles and small shocks that told him he was about to cum. He started breathing rhythmically and very fast, and mangled words were coming out of his mouth, “ _Oh..yes…yes…don’t… stop...oh… OH…oh…”_  
  
 This was totally turning John on, because Paul was usually far less noisy during sex than he was. He felt his cock getting harder and he was glad he’d thought of the cock ring. He knew what he wanted to do once Paul came, and he needed a hard cock to do it.   
  
_“Ahhhhh, ahhhhh!”_ Paul suddenly came, and John felt the spunk sliding over the top of his hand, and seeping in below it. Paul writhed around in what looked like exquisite physical release for a good 20 more seconds as he allowed the orgasm to go the full distance. John had stopped all action because he was so enraptured by watching Paul in his obviously mind-blowing orgasm. He couldn’t think of a time when Paul’s orgasm was this organic, this patently overwhelming. John flushed with pride, and then with intense sexual desire.  
  
 John pulled himself over Paul, and whispered in his ear from behind, “It’s my turn love, I’m gonna fuck you.”  
  
 Paul could do nothing but nod his head obediently.  
  
    “I want to watch your face while I do it,” John said, gently prodding Paul until he was facing him. John couldn’t resist Paul’s sexually spent face, and started lodging passionate kisses all over it. Paul’s hands had moved up and were idly running themselves through John’s wild hair. “We’ve never done it this way before,” John continued in a low, dominant voice. “But I think you’re ready for it now. I’m gonna pull your legs up now.”  
  
 Paul allowed John to do what he would with his body, and soon John had pushed Paul’s knees far up close to his chest. He then grabbed a pillow, and stuffed it under Paul’s ass. Paul was kind of curious, even though he was physically exhausted.  
  
 John pushed Paul’s ankles and lower legs higher up in the air. “You have to pull your knees toward the headboard, while spreading your ass, and your ankles have to held up high and to the sides.” John was moving Paul’s body parts as he explained the position to Paul, and Paul did his best to comply. It wasn’t all that comfortable to have his knees up around his chest, and his legs dangling up in the air in the position of a woman in stirrups, but Paul was so grateful for the rim job orgasm he’d just experienced that, at this point, if John had wanted to dress him up in a bra, stockings and fuck-me high heels, Paul would have gone along without hesitation.  
  
 John was on his knees – the knees a little under the pillow that cushioned Paul’s ass, and he was lightly running his fingers over Paul’s perineum, then his balls, and then his anus. Soon he was circling his fingers around Paul’s anus, loading up his hands with tons of lube, and inserting his fingers into Paul’s anus. It would never take 3 full fingers – Paul had only made it to the 2½ finger width butt plug, and John didn’t want Paul’s first experience with missionary position sodomy to be uncomfortable, so he was careful to load on the lube, both inside Paul, but also all over his cock. Then he let his cock play a little dance around Paul’s anus. Paul was not going to cum again so soon, that was for certain, and anyway, Paul hadn’t ever cum from ass-fucking in the sub position on its own. He’d always needed extra curricular assistance, like a simultaneous hand job. So John knew this fuck was only for him, and so long as he didn’t hurt Paul, or make it too uncomfortable, he knew Paul would be a good chum, and not make a fuss.  
  
 The thought of fucking Paul up his ass while staring in his eyes made John very hot, and soon he was pushing his cock – kept hard by the cock ring - into Paul’s hole. Paul groaned a little, and his eyes were closed tightly. He pulled out and inserted another big glob of warm lube in Paul’s hole, and then quickly reinserted his cock, and just pushed as far in as he could go, given the cock ring.  
  
 “ _Ohhh!_ ” Paul yelped. He had figured out how to hold and release his muscles when he was ass up, but those same techniques didn’t seem to work so well when he was ass down.  
  
 John plunged in again and began grinding and rutting. He couldn’t hold back his urges anymore. He knew he had to come quick, because Paul might be in discomfort and he didn’t want to prolong that. Consequently, he removed his cock ring and then went back to his thrusting. He leaned over as far as he could in the awkward position he was in, and stared intently at Paul’s face. Paul’s face was tensed up and his eyes were closed. John wagged his cock inside Paul, and squeezed Paul’s inner thighs with his hands and whispered, “Open your eyes, Pud. I want to look in your eyes while I fuck you, and when I cum.”  
  
 Paul’s eyes slowly opened, and Paul smiled, but it was soon erased when John thumped him hard, again. Paul’s expression when John was thumping him hard turned John on no end. He could do this all fucking night! The dirty words John so loved to spill all over Paul when fucking him began to leak out. “You’re an amazing cunt, a fuckin’…” here another hard thrust, “…bitch. Are you my bitch?" John’s thrusts had become harder and faster and Paul felt his eyes rolling back in their sockets. John spanked the side of Paul’s left thigh, shouting, “Yeah – that’s right – you’re my bitch!” Soon, John was whimpering in between his dirty words. “ _Yes…that’s right…you’re my bitch…Oh god! Oh…yes!”_ John managed to pull out just in time, before grabbing the tissue and capturing the semen before it landed on Paul.  
  
John was still on his knees, still breathing, and still shaking his head. _Man, that was hot_. As he regained his senses, he looked down at Paul, who had let his legs collapse down as soon as John had pulled out. Paul looked absolutely flattened. John felt a little guilty as he pulled the pillow out from under Paul’s bum, and then he rolled off the bed and brought a cool cloth and glass of water. First he wiped Paul’s pelvic and anal areas with the cool cloth, and then, after taking a sip, offered the glass of water to Paul. John practically had to hold Paul’s head up while he took the sip.  
  
 John then laid down and pulled Paul over to his side. He was giving Paul sweet kisses around his forehead, and lightly playing with Paul’s hair. John finally said, “I’m so sorry if I hurt you, Paul. I totally lost control.”  
  
 Paul snuggled in closer to John, and said, “One good cum deserves another.” The two men giggled quietly, and then just cradled each other until they fell asleep.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s Face the Music and Dance

 John was sitting in the anteroom waiting for his therapist. He had actually arrived 10 minutes early. Paul had insisted that John keep his appointment, and even shoved John out the door and locked it behind him just to make sure! As he waited, John looked at his fingernails nervously. John felt motivated to talk today, because right after this session he was going over to the Dakota to see Yoko. Butterflies suddenly beat against his stomach walls as that thought skittered through his brain.  
  
 The red light went off followed by a buzzer. And soon the door opened, and his therapist was standing there doing her best not to look too pleasantly surprised to see John sitting there, looking like a guilty little boy outside the headmaster’s office.  
  
 John followed the therapist into the office, and headed straight for the comfy chair he liked. He plopped down and watched the therapist get settled with dark, worried eyes.  
  
 “How have you been since our last session – what was it? Two and a half weeks ago?” She asked him pointedly.  
  
 “I’ve been in Sardinia,” John said in a snarly voice.  
  
 “You missed 5 sessions…” she pointed out, looking John firmly in the eyes.  
  
 “I was in bloody Italy, wasn’t I?” John retorted. “It was hardly convenient to make it here.”  
  
 “You miss almost as many sessions as you make,” the therapist stated. “And you’re late for most of the other ones.”  
  
 John didn’t respond, but glared at her steadily.  
  
 “Are you really serious about your therapy, John? Is this something you are really committed to?”  
  
 John sighed and said, “I’ve already got a wife and a lover. I don’t need a third nag in my life.”  
  
 “It’s you who decided to come here, presumably because you had something that was important to talk about.”  
  
 John remained silent and truculent in expression.   
  
 The therapist tried again. “The last time you mentioned how you don’t trust people, but you took a risk and opened up about some real concerns of yours. After doing that, did you have some regrets or fears about it? Did it make it hard to face me again?”  
  
 John blinked. She had hit him straight between the eyes with the truth, and he didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t be too revealing. “I don’t ever talk about it with anyone. Hardly anyone. Not for over 20 years now. It’s the only way I’ve kept it under control.”  
  
 “What is it that you need to keep under control? What is ‘it’?”  
  
 John stared at her blankly. “I don’t know,” he said, and then shot her a cross look. “I said, I don’t want to talk about this subject, and that’s all I’m saying about it.”  
  
 “These relationships between patients and therapists, there is chemistry involved. Sometimes the first therapist you visit isn’t the right one. Do you think you could open up more to a different therapist, other than me?”  
  
 “You’re not firing me as a patient, are you?” John was struck dumb. Why would any therapist not want _him_? John was staring at her with his mouth open. “I don’t want another therapist, I’m _used_ to you.”  
  
 The therapist had to swallow an outright chuckle over that backwards compliment.  
  
 A sense of panic began to take John over. He was being rejected again because of his bad behavior! Even the therapist thought he was hopeless! “I know I’m not the best patient,” John said grudgingly. “It’s just that for my whole life – because of the fame thing – I’ve had to keep this whole subject, this…well…, to myself. There’s fewer than a dozen people who I’ve shared any of it with in all these years. I don’t feel comfortable talking about it; it makes me very nervous and afraid, especially after I leave here. I don’t want to put myself through that. But it isn’t just you! I don’t talk to _anyone!_ ”  
  
 The therapist smiled warmly at him, and nodded in agreement. “I only mentioned it because I owe it to you to make sure you’re comfortable enough with me. It seems you are. But, this is your life, and the healthy part of you needs to discuss these painful things in order to deal with them better.” The therapist knew that she had to draw a line in the sand about the patient’s avoidance tactics, but didn’t want to push him further into himself. She needed him to commit to the therapy, so she asked, “How does not showing up on a regular basis and not turning up on time help you accomplish what you were hoping for by coming to therapy?”  
  
 John looked at her balefully. “I came here to make sure I would stay strong enough to keep what I want; I don’t have any other expectations.” John knew at several levels that this was a completely untrue answer, but his natural tendency was not to expose his weaknesses and real fears at all costs.  
  
 “Well, I can’t make this clear enough. You need to come to every appointment, on time.” The therapist’s voice was firm, but kind.  
  
 John didn’t know how to explain to her that he was planning on moving to England for a while. So he didn’t. He just nodded as if he was taking her demand seriously, and then said, “There _was_ something I wanted to talk to you about, though.”  
  
 The therapist sat back, not at all satisfied that John intended to really consider her concerned but careful words.  
  
 “I’m telling my wife I want a trial separation today.”  
  
 The therapist was genuinely surprised by that news. John talked a lot about what he was going to do, but rarely seemed to actually take any action to further those intentions. “Is this a sudden decision?” She asked, making sure her voice had no judgment in it whatsoever.  
  
 “I’ve wanted to just walk out for years. I even did it once. But I was afraid to be alone, in the end. Went all barmy and went back, tail between me legs.” John was telling the story in the entertaining way he would use for a _Rolling Stone_ interviewer.  
  
 “Why is it different this time?” She asked.  
  
 “This time, I have somewhere I really want to go when I walk out.”  
  
 “Your lover.” The therapist said. She hadn’t meant to finish his sentence for him, and told herself it was a rookie mistake, and she cursed herself inwardly.  
  
 “Let’s call him a name, instead of ‘lover’. It sounds so melodramatic when you say ‘lover’.” He paused for a dramatic moment. “Let’s call him…oh, I dunno…Paul.”  
  
 The therapist sat quietly. The patient obviously thought that she should react to that name. She hadn’t ever been a Beatles fan, but she knew there was a ‘Paul’ in the band. The writing partner. Of course. This was…a surprise. An extremely complicated surprise.  
  
 John was still watching her for a reaction, and was denied the pleasure of shock and awe. She merely said, “Alright…we’ll call him Paul.”  
  
 John stared at her as if she was either a complete idiot or a scandalous tease. He shrugged and went on.  
  
 “So, yeah, I’m going to stay with Paul for a while.”  
  
 “What about his wife and children?” She asked carefully, exploring the boundaries of John’s dilemma.  
  
 “I’ll be living with them as well,” John said.  
  
 The therapist was now sitting back in her chair, incapable of being surprised any more. “How will that work?” She asked calmly.  
  
 “We were all in Sardinia together, and it worked really well. It’s his wife’s idea that I move in for a while, to see if I really want to leave my wife.”  
  
 “Being on vacation is one thing, but do you think moving in with Paul and his family is something that can work out over the long haul?” The therapist was alarmed at this move. It sounded foolhardy. No – _crazy_!  
  
 “It’s not meant to be forever. Just to see if I can really live on my own.”  
  
 “You’ll be living with a whole family. Not exactly ‘alone’.”  
  
 “I meant without Yoko.”  
  
 “I see.” The therapist thought about how best to explore this idea without judging it. “So, will you be sleeping with Paul, or will he sleep with his wife?” You couldn’t tell by her tone that she thought the whole idea was insane.  
  
 “We switch off.” John was blushing a little. He hadn’t expected the therapist to be so sanguine about it, or to cold-bloodedly break it down element by element.  
  
 “And you will be doing this in a house full of children? How will that work?”  
  
 “There’s a guest house on the property. I’ll be staying there. Same as in Sardinia.”  
  
 Well, that made the whole thing a _little_ less insane. “And how will your son fit in to this?”  
  
 John looked extremely uneasy. “I didn’t really want to talk about England so much,” he prevaricated. “I wanted to talk about how I am going to tell Yoko.” John looked up through his eyelashes to gauge the therapist’s reaction.  
  
 “What precisely are you going to say to her, when you first raise the subject?” The therapist asked.  
  
 “I don’t know.”  
  
 “Well, you really should know before you get there. At least how you intend to break it to her. Have you got any ideas? We can talk them out here, like a trial run, if you like.”  
  
 “I kinda thought I’d just say I want a separation, and I’m gonna move to England for a while, and I want to take Sean.”  
  
 “You know your wife, and I don’t. How do you think she will take it if you say it that way?”  
  
 “She’s not gonna like it no matter how I say it, so I might as well just say it and get it over with.”  
  
 “Well, that’s one approach. Had you thought about starting by explaining how the marriage feels to you now? In other words, explain the reasons why you need a break?”  
  
 “No.” John saw the therapist was a little irritated by his failure to elucidate, so he enlarged. “Trust me on this, Yoko will twist everything I say, and confuse me, so I really think just blurting it out right up front is the best thing. She’ll still go to work on me, but at least I’ll have said it.”  
  
 The therapist was beginning to feel like there was a whole other huge deep dark secret inside of this patient. It sounded very much like he had an extremely strange relationship with his wife.   
  


*****

  
  
  
 John left the therapist’s office with a thudding heart. Paul had said the same thing – to soft sell it to Yoko. But John didn’t have faith that he had the emotional and mental strength to manipulate Yoko in any way, or talk her into things she didn’t want to do. She had all the power in their relationship, because John was the one who was afraid of being abandoned. Yoko was used to being alone, and it didn’t frighten her, so John was the needy one, and thus he had handed over all the power to her. It was far too late to get it back now.  
  
 Like a condemned man, he took the elevator up to their floor, and first went to see Sean. They chatted for a half hour or so, and then John went to find Yoko. She was in her sitting room, curled up on a sofa, with business papers spread out around her. She looked pleasantly surprised to see that John had actually come to seek her out. Maybe the several weeks with Paul had finally brought out the negative in their relationship. She gave John a smile, and offered up her cheek for a kiss.  
  
 John complied, but then took a seat in the chair opposite the sofa.  
  
 Yoko said, “So is it over finally?”  
  
 “Is what over?” John asked. He had no idea what she was talking about.  
  
 “This whole Paul nonsense. Is it finally over?” Yoko looked confident and in charge. John was shocked that she believed he was dragging himself back to her in defeat.  
  
 “It’s not nonsense, Yoko,” John said wearily. “And no, it’s not over.”  
  
 This was a nasty shock for Yoko, but she handled it well visually, at least. “Oh? So if it is so perfect, why are you here instead of with him – at your ‘loft’?” Yoko deliberately let that slip.  
  
 John was only momentarily surprised that Yoko knew about the loft. In fact, he quickly surmised that of course she knew about it. That is what Yoko _did_. She found out about things. “I’ve come to see Sean, and to tell you that I want a trial separation.”  
  
 Yoko’s face froze, and her heart started clanging. She hadn’t expected this direct bald statement from him; and she hadn’t expected this so soon. John was an indecisive person, who wavered back and forth. He wasn’t given to sudden definite decisions unless he was backed by…of course, Paul. Just as she had manipulated John into leaving Paul, now Paul was doing the same back to her. Her face hardened.  
  
 “That’s a ridiculous notion, John,” Yoko said. “Where are you going to go? Maybe back to Hollywood? You and Harry can hook up again. Or –no! Maybe you can go live with Paul in England! I’m sure Linda would be _thrilled_ by that idea! You can help raise the kiddies.”  
  
 John looked up and felt a frisson of power. For once, he was a few steps ahead of Yoko. “Actually, yes. It was Linda who invited me.”  
  
 Yoko was struck silent.  
  
 John continued bravely. “I’m going to stay there while I decide where to live permanently. I’m calling it a separation, but it’s really more like a divorce. I don’t plan to be back, Yoko.” The little jolt of power he’d felt was starting to take over. He enjoyed being in the catbird seat for once.  
  
 Yoko felt herself going to ‘the mattresses’ in her brain. She became calm and matter-of-fact. “So you’re leaving Sean, just like you left Julian?”  
  
 John was not through riding his power wave through. “No, of course not. I’m taking him with me.”  
  
 “Not if I have anything to say about it. You can’t take a child away from its mother without a court order, John. It’s called parental kidnapping. And, let’s face it, when the court hears about how you two sleep together in the nude so Sean can see it...” It was John’s face’s turn to be frozen. Yoko warmed to her subject. “And how much will Linda like having you there once the paparazzi and press are climbing all over the place clamoring to get pictures of you and Paul in a clinch?”  
  
 “So you’re threatening me now, is that it?” John tried to retain his sense of power, but he felt it collapsing underneath him. He should have known he could never best her. Still, he maintained a stubborn set to his jaw, which Yoko noticed.  
  
 “I don’t see why it has to be this way, John,” Yoko said, adopting her little girl persuasive voice. “You can stay with me and have Paul, too. And Paul can have Linda. There is no need for separations, or divorces, or for the press to find out. You can continue to have Paul on the side. That’s by far the best solution.”  
  
 John was glaring at Yoko now. “I don’t want Paul ‘on the side’. It’s not enough for me. I need to be with him all the time.”  
  
 “Come now, he’ll still be Linda’s husband, and his children’s father. You will still be a distant third in his life. You know it, and I know it. At least if you have a wife and child too, you will not be marginalized.”  
  
 “I’d rather be his third choice than anyone else’s first choice,” John grumbled. But he was worried now.  
  
 “I think Paul would be the one most hurt by exposure. I think he has the most to lose. If you really care about him, I’d think you would want to protect him from that.”  
  
 “From _you_ , you mean. There’s no reason for the press to find out unless you tell them.”  
  
 “You don’t think it will look funny to the press when you move in with Paul and Linda?”  
  
 “They’ll think I’m just there while I sort myself out about our separation,” John said stubbornly.  
  
 “If you say so…” Yoko let the thought wander. “But I think you should explain to Paul what the problem will be if the two of you go forward with this ridiculous scheme. He’s always been the one with brains in your partnership. I’m sure he’ll realize that this whole idea is a non-starter. And, by the way, he is welcome here at any time. You don’t have to hideaway in your pathetic little condo, John. You have a home here, and I have no problem with Paul visiting. It truly is the best solution for everyone. Talk to Paul, and I’m sure he’ll see reason, even if you don’t.” With that, Yoko picked up some papers and said, “Now, if you don’t mind, John. I’m very busy. You should run along back to the loft. I’m sure Paul is missing you.”  
  
 Thus dismissed, John stood up and then shouted, “You’re not going to win this time, Yoko! I’m going to be with Paul, and I’m going to leave you, and your tricks aren’t going to work! I’ll get an injunction against you forbidding you to talk about me!”  
  
 Yoko looked up and smiled confidently at him. “Be my guest.” She said. She knew that she could leak the news to any one of a dozen people, and it would never get traced back to her. Let John have his brave little stand. Once Paul got wind of her response, there was going to be a whole lot of backpedaling going on. Maybe Paul backing out will even cause a break between the two of them. One can hope.

 

*********  
   


 John charged out of the apartment in a panic. His heart was beating so fast that he was on the verge of hyperventilating. He couldn’t make it to the street. He was fighting off angry and fearful tears. Instinctively he took the elevator up - and was soon banging on Jason and Gerry’s door.  
  
 Jason and Gerry were reading quietly in their sitting room when a barrage of hammering fists began banging on their door. Gerry looked concerned, and got up to answer the door, with Jason right on his heels.  
  
 John was standing in the hall, leaning half over while he took deep breaths, and desperately tried to smother the sobs that were stuck in his throat. Gerry and Jason both cried out in distress and pulled him in. Gerry’s first thought was, _I knew it would happen! That beautiful little shit has dumped him_! Jason’s first thought was, _What has Yoko done to John_?  
  
 John began to sob in Jason’s arms. Jason was signaling to Gerry to go make some tea. English people always wanted tea in a crisis. Somehow, this quaint tradition had become known to Americans, possibly from watching all those romantic English War movies of the ‘40s and ‘50s. Gradually, Jason managed to move John over to the sofa, and then he sat next to John, holding him while his body was racked with sobs. Finally, after about 10 minutes, John began to calm down a little. He was still very distressed, but the convulsive sobs had stopped, and the tears were no longer coursing down his cheeks. He started taking deep breaths to calm himself down, and then, noticing the hot tea, gratefully picked up the cup, feeling the warmth of hot liquid against the palms of his hands.  
  
 John felt bereft of all comfort and security. He knew the confrontation with Yoko was going to be bad, but he hadn’t really expected it to feel _this_ bad.  
  
 “John, what happened?” Jason asked gently, when John’s breathing had gone back to normal, and he had taken a few sips of the magic elixir. (At least it was apparently magic to Englishmen.)  
  
 “Yoko…” John said.  
  
 Jason inwardly winced. He knew it was Yoko. Meanwhile, Gerry was pleasantly surprised. He didn’t know why he didn’t trust Paul – it probably was just because he cared so much for John, and saw John as so extremely vulnerable.  And the fact that Gerry, a nerdish looking man, had never trusted beautiful men.  
  
 “Yes? Yoko?” Jason prompted gently.  
  
 “I told her I wanted a trial separation, and that I was going to move to England for a while, and she…she said she would stop me from taking Sean, and…she threatened Paul.”  
  
 “How did she threaten Paul?” Jason asked, as a sinking feeling developed in his stomach.  
  
 “She said she would expose us – to the press. That would kill him. His wife, his kids, he told me he could never put them through that.” John felt like blubbering again. Instead, he noticed his hands were shaking badly. Jason noticed too, and quickly grabbed the teacup out of John’s hands before he dropped it. “He’ll choose them, not me,” John cried. “I come after them. I always will.” He was weeping again.  
  
 Jason embraced John and began uttering little comforting sounds. “Gerry,” Jason said, “Call the loft. Tell Paul he needs to come here immediately.”  
  
 Reluctantly, Gerry followed the instruction. After a few rings, Paul answered with a cheerful ‘Hullo!’  
  
 “Paul, I’m afraid John has had a very bad time with Yoko. He’s here with us, and he’s quite upset. Jason thinks you should join us immediately.”  
  
 “Oh no! I was afraid it would be bad. I’ll be right over.” Paul hung up and quickly dashed into the street, not bothering with sunglasses, or hoodies. He figured it would be faster if he just jogged across the park, rather than waiting for a cab to crawl around the park in rush hour traffic. He felt panic welling up in him, not knowing what to expect when he got there. He arrived at the apartment within 20 minutes – some kind of a record for Paul – but he was bent over trying to catch his breath when Gerry opened the door.  
  
  _Not another one_ …Gerry thought with a little amusement. _These creative types sure are overly dramatic, and didn’t appear to have much stamina for the vicissitudes of life._  
  
 But then Paul straightened up, put a hand on his chest, and gasped, “I never ran so fast in my life. Where is he?” Gerry noticed that Paul was all business, and quite up to the task of dealing with the situation. Paul pushed past Gerry and headed in the indicated direction, and soon was plopping down next to John, and pulling him into his arms. Seeing and then feeling Paul, John’s sobbing started again in earnest. Paul looked up at Jason with questioning eyes, and Jason said,  
  
 “He said Yoko threatened to expose you both to the press, and John is afraid you’ll choose your family over him.”  
  
 Paul nodded in understanding, and then turned his attention back to John. “Johnny, Johnny, sshhh..hush. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.”  
  
 Gradually John’s emotions began to reel themselves in again. “She’s gonna ruin it for us,” he finally managed to say.  
  
 Paul was trying not to let his anger towards Yoko show. Instead, he said very gently but in a firm tone of voice, “No one can ruin us but us.”  
  
 “She’s keeping Sean, she won’t let me take him. And she’s gonna let the whole world know about us.”  
  
 Paul had been rubbing John’s back slowly as John regained his composure. Now Paul said, “The issue of Sean’s custody will be decided by a court, John, not by Yoko. She can’t change that fact.”  
  
 “She’s gonna use you against me in front of the court.” John looked around and then whispered in Paul’s ear, so Gerry and Jason couldn’t hear. “She knows about that morning when Sean walked in on us.”  
  
 Paul wasn’t really surprised, and didn’t lower his voice as he responded. “We weren’t doing anything, really. We were just sleeping. And a court would seal any information like that from public view. She’s just trying to scare you.”  
  
 “She succeeded,” John joked, little by little getting his sense of self back.  
  
 “How did you tell her, John? Did you just walk in and blurt it out and tell her you were taking Sean?” Paul was looking John dead in the eye.  
  
 “Well, it’s what I want,” John mumbled.  
  
 “You never learn. That’s how you said it to Cyn, and that’s how you said it to me. Haven’t you figured out that it is highly counterproductive to do it that way?” Paul’s voice was slightly remonstrative, but still reflected a gentle amusement. “I think I should go talk to her.”  
  
 “No!” John shouted, making everyone jump. Gerry and Jason had been watching the interplay between the two men as if it were a particularly compelling and intimate movie scene. The shout had kind of dragged them out of their trance.  
  
 “She needs to have it explained to her in a way that isn’t so combative. There are a lot of good reasons why she should cooperate. It just has to be explained to her.”  
  
 “No! She’ll talk you out of letting me stay with you in England!” John whined. “She’ll try to convince you to keep the status quo…”  
  
 Paul sighed. “Is it Yoko you don’t trust, or me?”  
  
 “She suggested you stay at the Dakota! She said I should have you ‘on the side’! I don’t want you on the side Paul!”  
  
 “Yoko and I understand each other, John,” Paul said patiently. “We don’t like each other, but we understand each other. It will be okay. She won’t intimidate me, and I won’t intimidate her. We’ll have an adult discussion – a business discussion – and I think in the end she’ll see it is best for her not to fight with you.” Paul’s voice sounded calm and sure.  
  
 John was looking at him with equal amounts of doubt and hope. Jason and Gerry were looking at Paul with equal amounts of awe and concern.  
  
 “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” John finally said in a small voice.  
  
 “As opposed to where we are now? How could it be worse?” Paul had that infuriating reasonable expression on his face – the one that John could never argue with. John shrugged his submission. Paul noted this and said, “That’s settled then. But before I meet with her, I want to get all your ducks in a row with your lawyer and financial advisor. I’m thinking we offer her a financial package so generous that she would never get a better one, even if she dragged us through mud and sicced all her lawyers on us. Above all, she is a very logical, rational person.”  
  
 John was feeling much better now, as Paul took control. Jason invited them to stay for dinner, but Paul thought it best to get John back to the loft, and away from the Dakota. After hugs all around, John and Paul left the Dakota, and took a quick walk in the dark back through the park to their loft.  
  
 John desperately needed to be distracted that night, so – seeing as how it was his job now - Paul worked his magic.   
  


*****

  
  
 The meeting with the lawyers and financial advisors (both John’s and Paul’s) was very informative. Many of Yoko’s transfers of assets off shore had been detected by John’s team, after they obtained copies of bank records and done a forensic search. Thus far they had found that almost all of the non-music related assets were in the names of limited liability companies, ownership of which was apparently 100% in Yoko’s name. In addition, the private investigator John’s lawyer had hired had spoken on the sly to some of the household help; several of them feared Yoko, and some of them had hinted at a serious drug problem. There was ammunition there, should John want to use it.  
  
 Paul saw no upside to dirt being flung in either direction. The ones who would be most hurt on both sides would be their children. In Paul’s world, adults should take the hits, and children should be left alone to be children. The strategy he unfolded involved allowing Yoko to keep all the assets she had improperly hidden away in exchange for giving John the rest. He wouldn’t actually have to point out that she had violated John’s community property rights by doing what she had done without his permission; Yoko was too smart not to already know that part. Instead, he would discuss allowing Yoko to ‘have’ those assets, in exchange for the things that John wanted.  
  
 Here, Paul found he had to persuade John not to be greedy. “It’s only money, John. She’ll get the majority of the assets, but you’d have your song rights, and they will immediately start making more money for you. If you carefully invest it, you will soon be fine again.”  
  
 Thus, he was loaded with a very generous proposition as Paul walked across the park, a canvas book back slung over his back, towards the Dakota on a sunny Thursday afternoon. He had called and made a business appointment with Yoko for 4 p.m. He had insisted that John remain in the loft (Jason had come over to keep John company, since Gerry was at work), and he had also insisted that no lawyers or accountants be present – just Yoko and him.  
  
 Yoko opened the door to the apartment, which surprised Paul a little, and she gave him a very friendly hug. This, too, was surprising. Paul was on his toes, now. No one seemed to be around the apartment. Apparently Sean and his nanny had gone off to a friend’s birthday party.  
  
 Paul sat down on one sofa, which was across from the sofa Yoko was seated in. She quickly pulled her bare feet up under her short shirt, and succeeding in looking like a tiny little girl floating on the huge sofa. She had a soft, almost pleasant, expression on her face. “You wanted to talk?” She asked in a little girl voice.  
  
 Paul smiled sheepishly and said, “Here I am, your worst nightmare.” The boyish charm seemed to twinkle around him as if he were enchanted.  
  
 Yoko couldn’t help but find him attractive. _Hardly a nightmare…_ she giggled to herself. Yoko waited, but Paul did not seem tense or rushed. His legs were casually crossed, and his hands were at ease – one on his lap, and the other sitting lightly on the sofa cushion. He finally spoke.  
  
 “I understand John just blundered in and announced he was going to take Sean off you,” Paul said, with an amused glint in his eye.  
  
 “He did,” giggled Yoko.  
  
  _She’s flirting with me!_ Paul noticed. _Oh well, might as well use it to my benefit_ … “I’d say I felt bad about it, but instead I’m gonna say – now you know how I felt.” Paul presented a foolish grin and Yoko giggled some more. Time to get down to business. Paul uncrossed his legs, sat forward, and pulled a pad out of his book bag. “I thought we’d start over again, only this time behave like adults,” Paul said, winking at Yoko as if he were sharing a little joke with her.  
  
 “You know Paul, you are a very sexy man,” Yoko said, apropos of nothing. “I’ve always thought so. It isn’t as if I didn’t know what John saw in you.”  
  
 Ah…flattery. Too bad Paul was not a vain man. People always assumed he was vain because of his physical looks, but Paul had suffered at least as much taunting and grief from those looks as he had experienced pleasant things, so Paul had no trouble milking the upside, seeing as how he had always to live with the downside, anyway.  
  
 “I’m flattered you think so,” Paul said, pretending to be a little embarrassed by Yoko’s comment. He then flipped open the legal pad in front of him and studied his precise, elegant handwriting. “John has asked me to make a proposal – a more than fair distribution of the assets to facilitate the separation.”  
  
 Yoko was still, watching him with flirtatious eyes. “Oh?” she asked. “I wasn’t aware that John knew anything about ‘the assets’,” she said with idle amusement.  
  
 Paul met her eyes and smiled back with an equal amount of insincere amusement. “Well, he does now.”  
  
 The look Paul gave her conveyed the message – that Paul had taken an interest, that Paul knew all about the assets, and he was prepared to have a businesslike discussion about the subject. Yoko sobered up under Paul’s knowing stare. Paul continued, having made his point. “John estimates that there are anywhere from $250 to $350 million in assets, altogether, including the assets held in the offshore trusts.” Paul said this as if it weren’t an extraordinary piece of information to reveal – that he knew what Yoko had done to shelter assets from John.  
  
 Yoko was quietly stunned. She had no idea that her financial maneuverings could so easily be detected. Of course, Paul was outrageously rich, and it shouldn’t have surprised her that he could pay people to get to that information. Yoko felt as though she had swallowed a cold stone. Paul wasn’t threatening her – not exactly. But he wasn’t a dummy. He knew what she had done would look terrible in front of a court, and that she would find the publication of this information equally deleterious to her as John and Paul would find their affair being made public. This was a genuine checkmate.  
  
 “So, what is this proposal?” Yoko asked smoothly.  
   
 “It’s a one time offer. It’s only on the table if you accept it without having to go to court. There’s a little room to negotiate, of course, but if he has to go to court, John is prepared to fight for everything.”  
  
 “ _Everything_?” Yoko taunted, subtly challenging Paul with her blackmail material.  
  
 Paul engaged the challenging look for a very long moment before he repeated, silkily, “ _Everything._ ”  
  
 Yoko found herself aroused by Paul’s backbone. _Maybe_ …“You know, Paul, we don’t have to go through all this. We can do all of this _informally_ , you know.”  
  
 Paul returned her gaze with two arched eyebrows.  
  
 “I told John you are welcome here any time. It would actually be a good beard for you, you know. He can stay with you and Linda sometimes, and you could stay with us. It provides you with total deniability.”  
  
 Paul’s eyebrows were still on high, but inside he was thinking, _this woman is crazy_.  
  
 “I wouldn’t mind sharing you with John, myself,” Yoko added in a very sultry voice. “You know I was disappointed we never got together back in the sixties. I think it could be very…gratifying…for both of us.”  
  
 “But not so much for _John_ , though,” Paul said softly.  
  
 “I thought we all wanted to make love, not war,” Yoko responded. She was very slowly running her hand up and down her bare leg suggestively.  
  
 Paul turned on the sheepish, slightly blushing smile again. “John would kill me, if Linda didn’t get to me first,” Paul said flirtatiously. “I have to sleep sometime.” _No point in insulting her by saying, no way in hell would I sleep with you, John or no John._ He didn’t trust her one iota, and he never had sex with people he didn’t trust.  
  
 So, he’s turning me down again, Yoko thought. Too bad. She’d really like to have a go at him. Somehow she knew that he was incredibly hot in bed, especially since he kept John and Linda so satisfied that they were even willing to share him with each other. To Yoko that clearly meant he had to be something extra special in between the sheets. John was quite a demanding lover too, after all. At least, _she_ had never found it possible to keep John satisfied sexually. Of course, since he preferred a _man_ , she guessed she could let herself off the hook…  
  
 She wasn’t ready to give in just yet though. “There isn’t just the money, Paul,” Yoko said, more businesslike this time. “There’s Sean. You know I can’t have him growing up in an atmosphere where two men are having sex together, especially when you both take so little care to protect him from your …activities...” _Take that!_ Yoko’s eyes were filled with victory.  
  
 Paul knew that would be coming sooner or later. He was prepared. He leaned back and with a lazy smile seemed to concede her argument for a moment, “I agree it would certainly be a hard decision for the judge. He’d have to consider whether John and I being in love around Sean was worse than you doing heroin around him…” Paul’s eyes were hard like flint in a face suddenly devoid of boyishness.  
  
 Yoko was shocked to the core. How did he know? She had been certain John didn’t know! Someone must have told him… _I’ll fire every one of the fuckin’ servants_ , she promised herself angrily. But, realistically, Yoko knew she did not have the whip hand she had expected to wield. Paul had checked her exposure threat with his veiled threat about the converted assets. He had then checked her Sean custody move with the heroin move. So he had said he was offering a more-than-fair distribution. It was time to find out what it was…  
  


*****

  
 It was after 9 p.m. and Paul still wasn’t back from his meeting with Yoko. Gerry had joined them after work, and John Eastman and dropped by with his wife, anxious and concerned. The five of them had eaten a subdued catered dinner from a nearby restaurant, and then they had all settled in the living area of the loft, taking turns trying to divert John from his constant pacing, mumbling and handwringing.  
  
 Jody Eastman was an utterly charming, warm person, who felt a motherly concern for John. Neither she nor her husband knew that John and Paul were lovers. They assumed they were helping Paul help his friend out of a bad marriage, and that Paul and Linda were having him stay with them while he went through the worst of the stress related to a separation after so many years. Jody’s heart went out to John, who was so terribly convinced that Yoko was going to pound him into the ground. John’s two friends - neighbors of his from the Dakota, she gathered - were a very charming gay couple. They were extremely literate and elegant, but warm and supportive of John as well. She liked them very much.  
  
 Meanwhile, John Eastman was running through all the possibilities in his mind. What would Paul have to give up? What compromises would be have to deal with? He knew Paul was one hell of a negotiator, especially since everyone seemed to underestimate him because of his boyish looks, but still…the stakes were extremely high in this particular negotiation, and he worried that he should have pressed Paul harder to let lawyers do the task. Paul had confided in him that he felt that lawyers would be too heavy handed, and that it took a ‘light touch’ to lead Yoko to the logical conclusion that she was better off not fighting John’s desire to separate from her. Paul was probably right, but it sure was taking a long time. More than five hours now…  
  
 Gerry and Jason were a little bewildered by the presence of the Eastmans. They’d only ever heard horrible things about John Eastman and his father Lee from John. But they seemed like perfectly nice people. They weren’t posh or pretentious at all. Jody was sweet, holding John’s hand whenever she could get him to sit down for a few moments. Her husband looked genuinely concerned for John’s welfare. It was all very confusing. But one thing both men had picked up right away: neither Eastman had the slightest clue that Paul and John were lovers. So Gerry and Jason were very careful about what they said in front of the Eastmans. It was so complicated, this ‘unseen life’ they had to live.  
  
 John was calling himself all kinds of bad names. How could he have sent Paul off to deal with Broomhilda alone? She would eat him alive! He would scurry home to his wife and children so fast that John’s head would spin. He should have insisted on the lawyers. What the fuck was he gonna do if Paul retracted his invitation? He’d have to stay with Yoko, and then what about him and Paul? His life would be a never-ending misery! He should have settled for what he had! He shouldn’t have reached for it all! People like him _never_ got to have it all – he wasn’t one of the lucky ones, like Paul.  
  
 Finally, the key was in the lock, and Paul came in. He saw the crowd gathered in the little living era and let loose a sharp laugh of surprise. “Don’t tell me – it’s a surprise party!” he joked, as everyone started moving and talking at once. Paul pulled the pad out of the briefcase and tossed it on to the coffee table in front of John. “There’s your deal! I have to use the bathroom…” Paul headed for the bathroom, but turned around and walked back a bit. He pulled something out of his pocket and threw it down on top of the pad.  
  
 John looked up at Paul, confused and concerned.  
  
 “It’s Sean’s passport. You get the first two months.”He then turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom.  
  
 John Eastman leaped on the pad, and started breezing through it. “He’s done it!” he crowed. “She’s agreed to take all the assets she stashed away, in exchange for giving up all the music rights to John! And joint custody!” Eastman read some more. “And there’s a confidentiality clause – both ways.” Eastman knew that the press were like vultures after a celebrity divorce, and it was wise if both partners agreed not to ever speak about it with the press.  
  
 Soon Paul had returned to the living area to find everyone laughing and talking and generally celebrating, and although he was happy they were happy, he was also exhausted. It had been one king hell of a chess game. Objectively, looking at it financially, it was an awful deal for John. He could have done much better in court with respect to assets. Yoko was ending up with at least 2/3rds of the assets, and almost all of the cash, much of which she had already squirreled away in a Swiss bank account. Still, John would be crushed if his private business was plastered all over the newspapers, and he would be equally crushed if he didn’t win joint custody of Sean. John still would have almost $70 million in assets – nothing to sneeze at, and the $30 million of that which comprised John’s interests in the Beatles and Lennon/McCartney music rights would be earning him a great income for the rest of his life. What’s more, Paul was loaded, and he would be paying John’s living expenses until he had built up more of a war chest. Finally, Paul had protected his own wife and children and John’s two sons from international humiliation. In the end, it was the smart move. Yoko could feel as though she had won the negotiation, and this would make her far less bitter and hostile. This, too, would redound to Sean’s benefit. He didn’t need his parents locked in a deadly and highly public war; it would have scarred his childhood.  
  
 Yes, he was glad it was done, and it had ended well, but he suddenly felt as though he had no energy in his body. He fell backwards into an easy chair, and watched and listened while everyone else got rid of all the nervous energy. Gerry had eventually nudged Jason, and the two of them had slipped out, whispering to John and hugging Paul as they left. So only the Eastmans remained, John sipping some whiskey, and Jody working on a cup of chamomile tea. John was laid out on the sofa, his legs splayed before him, and looking a bit exhausted himself.  
  
 “Well, I’m glad that’s all over,” Jody said, to general mumblings in agreement. She got up to go wash things up in the kitchen. Paul’s John got up and followed her into the kitchen, to help.  
  
 Paul sat quietly in the living area with John Eastman, who finally asked what he had been wanting to ask for several days now, “Why did he have to give up so much of his assets, Paul? The dirt was all on her. She had literally stolen assets from the community, and she’s doing heroin, of all things.”  
  
 Paul heard this quietly and then finally said, “She had plenty of dirt, too, John.”  
  
 “Oh?”  
  
 Paul’s John had come back in to the room, catching the end of Paul’s sentence, and sat down in semi alert status on the sofa again, watching Paul’s and then Eastman’s face with deep concern. Paul met John’s eyes with a question mark, and John nodded ever so slightly in the affirmative.  
  
 “There’s another party in the picture for John,” Paul said.  
  
 “Really?” Eastman swiveled his eyes to John.  
  
 “I’m in love with somebody else,” John said softly, watching his former nemesis’s eyes carefully.  
  
 “Well, that explains it,” Eastman agreed. “These third party divorces are always the messiest. But still – it is common for men to fall in love with other women. It isn’t so common for husbands or wives to steal from each other, and do heroin. I just wonder why you didn’t approach the whole thing more aggressively, Paul.”  
  
 “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Paul responded. Paul looked at John, urging him to speak. John shook his head ‘no’, afraid to talk. He looked at Paul to do so. Paul sighed and turned back to his brother-in-law. “John’s lover is a man.”  
  
 John Eastman was a masterful lawyer, and his face did not reflect his shock, except for his mouth freezing in the shape of an “oh” for a few telling seconds. He said nothing for a few more moments, and then, being the lawyer he was, he said, “I hope you can trust this man, John. If things don’t turn out his way, he might go to the tabloids.”  
  
 John looked a bit amused, much to Eastman’s surprise, and then John looked over to Paul.  
  
 “It’s me,” Paul said.  
  
 “It’s you what?” Eastman asked.  
  
 “I’m John’s lover.” There was dead silence while Eastman manfully digested this information. Jody had just entered the room in time to hear Paul make this announcement and she froze, dishtowel in her hands, and wondered if she should walk out again or sit down as unobtrusively as possible. Paul gauged the silence, and then laughed. “And I promise I won’t go to the tabloids.” John and Paul chuckled nervously over Paul’s little joke, and then slowly the Eastmans regained the use of their muscles and vocal cords.  
  
 “You!” John gasped. “But…Linda…and the women…”  
  
 Paul said, “Yeah, I love Linda, and I love women, but I also love John.”  
  
 Jody reached the salient point first. “Does Linda know?” She was about to get angry on Linda’s behalf at Paul’s insouciant confession.  
  
 “Linda’s the one who invited me to stay with them,” John said gently. “She knows about us. I wouldn’t say she’s ‘okay’ with it. More like she is resigned to it, and has decided to accept it.”  
  
 Paul jumped in and spoke directly to Jody. “Linda and I love each other, and we will always love each other. You’re free to talk to her about it, if you don’t believe me.”  
  
 Jody had regretted speaking at all, and decided to hold her tongue. But she would most certainly be calling Linda to talk about this, first thing in the morning!  
  


*****

  
 After the Eastmans left, Paul gave in to his utter exhaustion.  
  
 “I don’t think I can move,” he said, as he sunk even further into the easy chair. “I think I’ll just sleep here.”  
  
 John clucked his disapproval, and although very tired himself, got up and pulled Paul to a standing position, and dragged him into the bedroom by his arm. “Let’s have a shower,” John said, beginning to undress Paul. “And then we can go to bed.”  
  
 “Quite an eventful day,” Paul murmured as John helped him remove his clothes.  
  
 John laughed warmly and said, “You’re my hero. I’m like Rapunzel, and you’re the handsome prince who rescued me from my prison in the castle.”  
  
 “At least I get to be the prince this time,” Paul pointed out drily.  
  
 John turned the shower on and adjusted the water to hot, and the nozzle spray to hard. He dragged Paul with him into the enclosure, and the two stood, embracing, in the shower for a few moments as the hot water pelted down on their tired bodies. Neither man spoke. Slowly John’s hands began to caress Paul’s back, and Paul let his hands slide down until he was holding one of John’s buns in each hand. They pulled just slightly apart, and kissed each other sweetly right on the lips, and then hugged each other even more tightly.  
  
 John bestirred himself sufficiently to grasp ahold of the bar of soap, and he began rubbing the soap all over Paul’s body, part by part. Paul was so weakened by this that he was leaning face first against the shower wall as John’s hand massaged him with the soap. After some moments, John leaned hard against Paul’s back, his arms encircling Paul’s waist tightly.  
  
 Paul felt John’s hard erection pressing against his bum. It was heavenly. He was groaning deep in his throat. Then John was nuzzling him around his left ear. This tickled a little, and made Paul scrunch up his shoulder a little, causing John to chuckle lightly under his breath.  
  
 “You’re so fuckin’ cute, I could eat you.” John said in a very sexy voice. “But then I wouldn’t have you any more, so I won’t.” John’s hands were moving down towards Paul’s growing erection. “I’ll do something like this, instead,” John crooned, as he gently took possession of Paul’s cock with his two hands, and began a slow and taunting stroke.  
  
 Paul’s head fall back on John’s shoulder in surrender. He wanted to reciprocate, but he was so exhausted he could barely stand up. He thought he might sink to the ground if John let go of him. John’s hands were picking up speed and intensity, and Paul heard his groans echoing in the shower stall. John had maneuvered his cock in between Paul’s thighs, just below and outside of the anus, and he was thrusting his cock into the tight place created when Paul clenched his legs together in response. Paul heard John’s breath increasing as he thrusted wantonly against Paul, and John’s breath was coming harder and faster now, to match Paul’s own breathing.  
  
 John started mumbling obscene phrases into Paul’s ear as the thrusting and then rutting increased. Paul couldn’t make sense of it all, but basically John was calling him a red-hot bitch while complimenting his huge hunky hardness at the same time. And Paul truthfully did feel like half-man and half-woman whenever he was with John, now. One moment he was in charge, and the next he had a cock up his ass. Just the thought of John’s cock up his ass gave Paul that extra push in the direction of the coming orgasm. Without further warning, the orgasm came, and Paul’s moans and deprecations were echoing in the tiled bathroom. Soon, John’s were echoing in perfect harmony. John collapsed against Paul’s back, and Paul collapsed against the shower wall, as the water continued to beat down on them.  
  
 Finally, the water started to turn cold, and John pushed himself fully upright and turned off the shower. He stepped out of the shower and handed Paul a towel, while he toweled off himself. As if in a dream, the two men completed their ablutions, and then silently moved towards their bed. As Paul gathered John up in his arms, John allowed his head to nestle under Paul’s chin. John’s had gently stroked Paul’s chest and abdomen, as he loved to do. Paul’s hand came and captured John’s restless hand, holding it still, and then he kissed John right on the top of his head.   
  
 John said softly into the darkness, “I was so afraid she’d talk you out of it. I was so afraid you would leave me again.”  
  
 Paul heard this, and squeezed John’s shoulder and hand in response. “I’ve _never_ left you, John, and I never will. _You_ may leave _me_ again, who knows? But _I_ will never leave _you_.”  
  


*****  

  
 Meanwhile, across the park at the Dakota, Gerry and Jason had tucked into bed, and Gerry had just turned off the bedside lamp. As they lay in the darkness, Jason said,  
  
 “So , Ger, I’ve been worrying.”  
  
 “Oh, about what?”  
  
 “I’m beginning to worry that John isn’t smart enough for Paul.”  
  
 After that there was a lot of grappling and giggling going on, but it was dark, and it wasn’t clear who did what to whom. 


	38. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND IN THE END…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who stuck with this series until the end...But the series is called _Wednesday Evening Salons_ because it started with Jason and Gerry and their circle of friends. It is only appropriate that there is where it should come to a close...

 It was the Wednesday Evening Salon night for September 1983. The group had skipped an August meeting, but had enjoyed a July weekend together on Fire Island. Now it was fall, and the weather was beginning to get nippy. Jason aired out the Dakota apartment after returning with Gerry from a month on Long Island, preparing it for his soiree.  
  
 Jason had found it to be a little sad to return to the Dakota, since John Lennon didn’t live there any more. He had moved out in July, taking Sean with him (for a few months), in order to move in to a guesthouse located on the McCartneys’ Sussex estate. Jason had invited John and Paul for a goodbye dinner, but only John had been able to come. He had talked non-stop about how great it was going to be in England. Jason hoped it would all turn out, but the whole set up seemed iffy, at best, to him. He’d kept his doubts to himself, though, while privately disapproving of John’s decision to quit therapy.  
  
 “I don’t need it anymore,” John had said cheerfully, “my ‘problem’ is as solved as it’ll ever be.” Jason knew that the ‘problem’ had been living without Paul, and the ‘solution’ was this strange sharing arrangement he’d apparently made with Paul’s wife, Linda.  
  
 When Jason told Gerry that John was going forward with it, Gerry had joked: “It’s nice to be Paul.” But Jason knew that John intended to have sexual relationships with women on the side, “when Paul is busy.” The one who seemed to be getting the short end of the stick was Linda. No, it was a very shaky edifice, and he half-believed he’d see John back with Yoko again, before too long, running from the reality of actually _watching_ his ‘one true love’ living with someone else.  
  
 Oh, well. It wasn’t his problem any more. He’d done his best, and he doubted John would keep up with their friendship from England. Jason knew John well enough to have figured out that John was a ‘friend of convenience.’ When it was convenient for John, he’d been Jason’s friend. Jason wasn’t bitter about it. He’d always known that John expected friends to be there for him when he wanted them, but was highly unlikely to reciprocate. He had decided to love John anyway, and so had Gerry. There was something about John that literally _forced_ you to love him.  
  
 Sighing, Jason set up his buffet table, and then disappeared into the kitchen to start cooking a sumptuous array of offerings for his _true_ friends.  
  


*****

  
  
 There was a slight pall over the evening’s proceedings. Everyone showed up wearing vestiges of their summer tans, and groaning about the light rainfall. This wistful quality often haunted their end-of-summer gatherings. They had caught up with one another over drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and then devoured the buffet in a friendly silence. And then it was question time. Eight men sat around the sitting room in front of a crackling fire, drinking coffees or whiskeys or aperitifs. (“ _Pick your poison_!” Jason had gleefully shouted to them when the drinks tray was ready.)  
  
 It was Jason’s turn to start the discussion.  
  
 “I want to talk about our missing member: John. I need to get this stuff off my mind, so I’d like to spend question time talking about John’s situation. I can’t help worrying about him, and I’m hoping you’ll all help me get to a better place with it.”  
  
 “What _is_ John’s situation?” He was asked.  
  
 Gerry stepped in, wanting to word the response carefully. “John has separated from Yoko…”  
  
 He was interrupted by a flurry of cheers from the group. Gerry persevered:  
  
 “He has moved out of the Dakota, and gone back to England.”  
  
 “What about his son?” Someone asked.  
  
 “John worked out an amicable settlement of the estate and custody issues with Yoko. They’ll be divorcing soon. Sean is with John for a few months, and then he’ll be with Yoko for a few months. They’ll trade off.” Gerry’s voice was objective and businesslike.  
  
 “I’m amazed he actually did it,” one member said, “and that Yoko isn’t fighting it.”  
  
 “It is better for both of them to handle this amicably,” Gerry responded succinctly.  
  
 “Why isn’t this good news?” The first questioner asked. “Didn’t we all agree that he needed out of that marriage?”  
  
 There was a general hum of agreement with that statement, but then one man spoke up.  
  
 “Where in England? And what about Paul?”  
  
 Jason jumped in. “ ‘Aye, there’s the rub.’ He’s moving into a guesthouse on Paul’s country estate.”  
  
 There was a dumbfounded silence.  
  
 “You don’t mean…” the man started.  
  
 “Yes, I do!” Jason declared. “Paul and his family in the ‘big house’ and John in the guesthouse.”  
  
 “So they’re really going through with that crazy idea? I felt sure that would never work out,” someone said.  
  
 “Yes, they’re going through with it, and I think it’s a very sketchy situation for all of them,” Jason said. “And I’m worried about John, because I fear he’ll be odd man out in the long run.”  
  
 “You know Paul better than us,” said one of the members. “We only met him the one time and he was awfully hard to read.”  
  
 “That’s the salient point,” Gerry said. “We only met him a half dozen times or so ourselves. He’s a lot smarter and kinder than I had feared he was at first, but John certainly does seem to have a greater stake in that relationship, so far as I could see.”  
  
 Jason squirmed a little in his chair, uncomfortable with the implied criticism in Gerry’s comment. “I really like Paul,” he said. “He’s a solid man. He _is_ hard to get to know, I agree, but not in a bad way. When John was extremely upset over Yoko‘s first reaction to the divorce, Paul was incredibly solicitous and protective, so I’m sure that he has very strong feelings for John. He made far more sacrifices in the last few years than John did – always coming here, buying their loft, getting his wife to include John in on their ménage…”  
  
 “True, but is it enough?” Gerry asked. “John is sure that Paul’s family will always come first. I can’t see a man like John putting up with that for long.”  
  
 Silence followed Gerry’s remark, as Jason nodded his head in a reluctant, dismayed agreement. “And its more complicated than that,” Jason added. “John told me that now he’s getting divorced he can have affairs with women openly again.”  
  
 “ _Girlfriends!_ ” Someone shouted. “I thought he said he was gay!”  
  
 Jason laughed. “Yeah, I thought he was gay, too. But apparently he’s bisexual. Or, maybe he is just talking big…”  
  
 “How will Paul feel about the girlfriends?” Someone interjected.  
  
 “He can’t say much, since he’s married and still with his wife,” a voice responded.  
  
 “What if the wife wants to start having an affair, too? I bet Paul won’t be happy with _that._ Or maybe she will share with Paul and John! They could have threesomes!” Everyone hooted at that one.  
  
 Gerry grumbled, “There’s all sorts of opportunities for mischief in this whole situation. It is just too complicated, with so many potential pitfalls…”  
  
 “And what about all those _children?_ Good heavens!” This came from a member who rarely spoke. Everyone looked at him. “Well, think about it,” he said defensively. “What’s Paul gonna do? ‘Good night kiddies, I’m off to sleep in the guesthouse with Uncle John.’”  
  
 Everyone laughed uncomfortably at the image.  
  
 “It’s impossible,” Gerry said, shaking his head. “And the worst part is that John ended his therapy. He thinks he doesn’t need it any more, but with this new living arrangement I think he’ll need it more than ever.”  
  
 “He can hardly take Ruth with him to England, “ Jason chided.  
  
 “But I told him Ruth would give him references. He just blew that idea off.”  
  
 “What a mess,” someone said, hopelessness dripping from his voice.  
  
 “Well, gee, I was right,” Jason said _, his_ voice dripping with sarcasm. “This has made me feel _much_ better.”  
  
 There was more understated sympathetic laughter.  
  
 “Did John give you any detail at all about how it was going to work?” Someone asked.  
  
 “I’m afraid I was too flummoxed by the whole idea to ask many questions,” Jason admitted. “And besides, he would have gotten irritated anyway, if I pried too much. Talking to John is an art, and requires a lot of tongue biting.”  
  
 Everyone there had experienced _Lennon ála Mood_ at least once, and so they all nodded inquiet agreement.  
  
  “It’s funny, though,” Jason added thoughtfully, “the more we talk about it, the more I worry about Paul and his family. It’s like they invited an _enfant terrible_ into their home, and if and when John loses it he could inflict a lot of damage: damage they would never have been subjected to if John had never been there.”  
  
 The room was silent.  
  
 “Unless...” someone said. Everyone looked up hopefully. They desperately wanted a Happy Ending. “Unless, they start to work together again. There would be reasons for Paul to be at John’s all hours; they could record, go on tour, and then Paul could dedicate his non-working hours to his family.”  
  
 This idea was considered by the group for some time before Jason said, his face lighting up tentatively, “That would be ideal.”  
  
 “Which is why it can’t happen,” Gerry said in his infuriatingly objective lawyer voice.  
  
 “ _Ger_! You’re such a wet blanket!” Jason exclaimed, and everyone laughed.  
  
 “I’m sorry, darling. I really am. But John is who he is, and he will never be satisfied with part of Paul; even if he had 75%, he’d still want 100%. Look what we’ve seen happen: first they were going to see each other a few hours per day in a hotel, a few days, every three months. John was miserable, so Paul bought the loft. Then John was upset that they couldn’t spend nights together, so Paul started staying 3 or 4 days in the loft, so John could see him more often. Then, John was miserable so Paul talked his wife into letting him stay for 2 weeks at a time. But John was miserable, so Paul’s wife felt it necessary to invite him on the family vacation. Now he’s moving on to their property! This all happened in less than three years! How long to you think it will be before John feels miserable about living in the guesthouse, and taking a backseat to Paul’s wife at the table, in front of the kids, in front of their wider families and friends, and – finally – in front of the whole world? I ask you, Jason, you know him better than I do – how long?”  
  
 Jason had listened with accruing concern. He finally said, “You made your point,” in a dispirited voice.  
  
 “I take no joy from it,” Gerry said softly. “Therapy was the key – if John had dealt with his demons in therapy, he might just have found a way to share Paul’s love. But he threw the key away, and that’s why I despair.”  
  


*****

  
  
 Later that night, Jason stood on the balcony off the master bedroom in the apartment he shared with Gerry, wrapped up in a heavy woolen bathrobe. He was staring down into the dark, unfathomable park. He was still worried about John and Paul. Their love story was absolutely compelling – fascinating. But the unanswered question was: how do you fit two creative geniuses into one little relationship? There would be fire, and passion, and slamming doors, which would be followed quickly by laughing insults, out-of-control sex, and gentle giggles in a darkened bedroom. There would be hours of camaraderie - at the piano, on meandering walks, in the middle of crowded rooms - followed by dark moments of suspicion, distrust, and jealousy.  
  
 How do you fit such a fiery, unpredictable mixture into a bland ‘happily ever after’? It would be like trying to squeeze a genie back into a bottle without the magic words.  
  
 No, John and Paul were not going to live ‘happily ever after.’ There would be nothing but obstacles for them forever, if they stayed together. Most of the obstacles would be self-made, too. That was the most frustrating part for those who loved them: watching them repeatedly step on those obvious banana peels over and over, as if in slow motion…  
  
 Still, given who they were, was this not a _kind_ of happy ending - the kind that holds that the only ‘end’ is death? So, as long as you live you are striving for that happy ending – a good death after a long life, well lived. A life where no temper tantrum went un-thrown, no wild-ass crazy idea went un-tried, no breathtaking risk un-taken, no temptation un-welcomed, and no small joyous epiphany un-explored. It might not be a white-picket-fence-type happiness, (which is really just contentment after all). No, it was bolder, more demanding than that. It required two people to accept and internalize each other’s opposite world-views, even while outwardly rejecting them.  
  
 This was not the kind of life Jason or Gerry would want to live. In fact, most people would find it intolerable. Jason smiled then, as his concern slowly melted away. ‘Most people’, Jason acknowledged to himself, were _not_ John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Those two would continue to live the way they’d always done – rather like two roller-coaster cars connected together, careering recklessly through life, laughing all the way and all the time figuring the end would come soon enough, so no point in planning for it.  
  
 Jason looked up from the deep, dark park to the clear sky above. It was alive with bright stars and possibilities. Jason picked out two adjacent bright stars, and made a wish.  
  
 “ _Happy ending, John and Paul_ ,” he whispered. And then he turned and headed for his comfortable bed, and Gerry, and _their_ version of a happy ending.  
  
  


**_FINIS_ **


End file.
